


The Colors of a Young God

by young_editor_1999



Category: Mad Men
Genre: A "What if...?" kind of story, California, Coca-Cola, Coke is the Real Thing, Ducati Motorcycle, F/M, Halsey songs inspired the title, I wrote most of these chapters in the early AM hours, I'll add more tags when I think of them, Mostly a Don and Peggy story, Not all relationships are what they seem, Some characters are mentioned in passing, Story within a Story, There's lots of SWEARING but they don't really do anything explict in terms of sex or whatever, They're edited to the best of my ability though, Vacation, post-series finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/young_editor_1999/pseuds/young_editor_1999
Summary: Don Draper is a Cali man now. Reflecting upon but not regretting his past anymore, his newly chill attitude is one that any old employee of his would be shocked to see.Peggy Olson would be one of those employees included in being shocked. After only receiving only one phone call and exactly six postcards from her old boss, in her mind, she has finally moved on from the shadow Don left on her after he unexpectedly went West.Taking place six months after the series finale, The Colors of a Young God is the story of Peggy, Don, and the relationship they were beginning to build right before they went to go live separate lives without each other.While sharing the message of supportive friendship, learning to live in the moment, and how people can make a huge impact on each other, TCOAYG takes a unique look at a mentor-mentee relationship, and asks the question: Can people really change?





	1. Full Summary and Quotes from the Series

**Author's Note:**

> Matthew Weiner, AMC, and Lionsgate own Mad Men. I simply decided to continue the series by writing a little story about Don and Peggy being in California together (: I couldn't fit the entire summary I had planned out, so I'm giving y'all a gift of the full, offical summary I wrote for the first "chapter". Also included are real quotes from the series that I think do a nice job of summarizing what this story is all about. These quotes also describe the general relationship Don and Peggy have. 
> 
> Don't be afraid to tell me what you think about the story in the comments! 
> 
> To see further obsessions of mine or just to chat, follow me on Tumblr @youngeditor1999

Don Draper is a Cali man now. Reflecting upon but not regretting his past anymore, his newly chill attitude is one that any old employee of his would be shocked to see.

Peggy Olson would be one of those employees included in being shocked. After only receiving only one phone call and exactly six postcards from her old boss, in her mind, she has finally moved on from the shadow Don left on her after he unexpectedly went West.

But the once dynamic duo still have more in common than they’d like to think, which is why six months after Don’s run-a-way move to California, he takes a risk. It’s not a huge risk; and in fact, it’s only a passing comment.

What transpires after his initial comment snowballs into something much more. Decisions have to be made, confessions must be dealt with, and true desires must be revealed.

Taking place six months after the series finale, _The Colors of a Young God_ is the story of Peggy, Don, and the relationship they were beginning to build right before they went to go live separate lives without each other.

While sharing the message of supportive friendship, learning to live in the moment, and how people can make a huge impact on each other, _TCOAYG_ takes a unique look at a mentor-mentee relationship, and asks the question: Can people really change?   

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

“People tell you who they are, but we ignore it because we want them to be who we want them to be.”

          -Don Draper, season 4, episode 8, “The Summer Man”.

 

“Our worst fears lie in anticipation.”

          -Don Draper, season 3, episode 5, “The Fog”.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

“The work is ten dollars. The lie is extra.”

          -Peggy Olson, season 5, episode 4, “Mystery Date”.

 

“You know this is what you would do.”

          -Peggy Olson, season 5, episode 11, “The Other Woman”.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

“If you don’t like what they’re saying…change the conversation.”

          -Don Draper in season 3, episode 2, “Love Among the Ruins”, later said by Peggy Olson in season 6, episode 4, “To Have and to Hold”.

 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd add a summary, but then it would be too obvious (;
> 
> Welcome to the offical start of the story!

_New York City_

_Tuesday, May 4 th, 1971_

The phone call that changed Peggy Olson’s life as she knew it hadn’t been the one she thought it would be. If she was the betting type, she would’ve placed a sure bet that the call that changed her life would’ve been from the couple that had so kindly adopted her son. They would have told her that they wanted her to be a part of her son’s life; that they wanted him to get to know his biological mother, at least a little bit. It was a secret fantasy she had had in the months after giving him up. While she didn’t regret the decision she had made, she _did_ sometimes wonder about him, especially if she saw a young boy in public that looked to be about the age he would be by now. 

It was a good thing she _wasn’t_ the gambling type. She would be out of at least $100 today if she was.

The day had started out like any other one, which was why this phone call she had agreed to take in the middle of the afternoon was so startling. Her new sectary, a young black man Peggy still had to learn the name of, had forgotten to tell her who was on the other end of the line before patching her through, and Peggy herself had forgotten to ask. It was a normal occurrence; one that she didn’t usually think much of because she was always busy with a million other things and didn’t have time to check who was calling for her now. 

Today, however, she had only wished she had taken the two seconds it would have taken to ask who was on the line before blindly pressing the second button that had delivered her the shock of her life. Perhaps then she wouldn’t be in the situation she was getting herself into. A situation that had escalated the second she had said, “This is Peggy Olson.”

“Peggy? It’s Don. Don Draper,” the voice on the other end had informed her.

“Don? What the fuck? It doesn’t even sound like you. Are you high? Where are you calling from?” Peggy had said. The shock of her old boss on the line had not quite sank in yet, and as she sat in her powder blue, fake leather desk chair, she began to grip the edge of her basically brand-new desk with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. Her knuckles began to turn white by the time Don spoke again.

He laughed before speaking, which Peggy hadn’t heard in a long time, if ever. “I’m still in California, of course We’re always a little bit high out here.” He laughed again as the phone seamlessly slid from Peggy’s ear to her chest, where it had remained for a second as she thought about why he might be calling her, especially now. Don wasn’t the greatest at keeping in touch, but he did try to make an effort to send her, Joan, and his children the occasional postcard when he managed to think of it.

“Peggy? Hello? You still there?” Don’s unusually soothing voice had brought her back to Earth, and she quickly brought the phone back to her ear.

“Yeah, I’m here. What do you want?”

“To say hey. And to see how you’re doing. Good God, Peggy, I haven’t heard from you in six months. I know you’re probably doing some cool shit now; I always knew you would. I want to hear all about it.”

“Why? So you can steal my ideas when you stumble in here two days later, begging (Roger) Sterling for your for your job back?” She might have been a bit defensive, but only because it was just plain strange that Don would be calling her after all this time. The last time she had spoken to him on the phone had been six months ago when he had randomly walked out of a meeting without telling anyone where he was going or what he was doing. She had been worried about him then, if only because she usually, understood the methods behind his madness when he went off on tangents like that. That day’s episode hadn’t made any lick of sense, so it had been a relief to hear his voice, and know that he was in California., doing better than o.k.

She thought that she had finally been moving on from Don and all of the drama he had caused, both in his absence and while she had been working for him. It had taken a while for her to get over the fact that he truly was never coming back; a fact she had always known but had hoped against all odds that it was false. She had buried (immersed?) herself in her work, her new relationship with Stan, and the goal of becoming a better, more badass version of herself than she already was, all in the hopes of forgetting about Don more quickly.

 However, she didn’t _completely_ forget about him because she never truly could. She was forever grateful for the opportunities he had provided her, and had always felt lucky to have been his secretary at one time. Though he had dared to push her into her own greatness, as far as she was concerned, the Don Draper chapter of her was over the day he had officially informed her that he wouldn’t be coming back to New York.

It was such a shame that she had given in to that little voice in the back of her head; the one that said it was possible that he was coming back, if only to see his kids and maybe to have a quick drink with the old gang. Primarily, that was the main reason that she was still on the phone with him.

In all honesty, she should have hung up already, letting bygones be bygones. Forget Don and all of his cheesy, charming ways. Forget that he was ever her boss and that their friendship had actually meant something.

 But once she had heard his new mellowed-out voice as opposed to the harsh businessman one she had grown accustomed to, it had been like her mind had reset and was o.k. with going in a totally different direction than what she had originally intended to do.

“Peggy, I am _happy_ in California. Content, one might even say. New York was just never the place for me, and I’m glad I realized that sooner rather than later. I’m not going to steal your ideas. I would just like to hear what you’ve been working on,” Don had explained, sounding more relaxed than ever before. For some reason, Peggy could picture him in shorts and a Hawaiian-print shirt. She imagined that his sunglasses were perfectly perched in his dark, glossy hair for later use. She also imagined that he was sitting in a patch of shade as he spoke to her, his long and most likely tan legs outstretched in front of him so that he could still catch some warm rays of sun without getting overheated.

“But why now? Six months, Don, and all I get from you are some shitty postcards. I couldn’t write to you because you never gave anybody a damn forwarding address, and every time I called the number you left, nobody ever picked up the line, except for one time, and then it was just a really creepy old man, so I hung up.” As she waited for his answer, she unlocked and opened her top right desk drawer, where she kept an old cigar box filled with all sort of small trinkets. At the bottom of the box were the postcards Don had sent her. There were six in total, one for every month he’d been gone.

She dumped out the entire contents of the box out onto her desk and pushed everything aside except for the cards. “That’s the question of the day isn’t it?” Don causally asked, pausing for half a second before continuing. “The truth is that I miss you. I know you’re off doing incredible things by yourself and I’ve got this sweet new life out here now, but sometimes, especially late at night when I can’t sleep, I think about what could have been. We were such a great team, Peggy. Don’t tell me you don’t remember those days.”

“Oh, I remember them all right,” Peggy quickly replied, shifting through the cards before laying all of them out one by one as if she were a poker dealer preparing for the game of her life. It was sort of ironic because talking to Don right now _was_ sort of like a game of her life. “I’m just not sure how they fit into our current selves,” she said as she finished spreading the cards all out in a 2 by 2 format.

“They don’t. Not really, anyway. I was just reminiscing about the old days. Not the _good_ old days, just the old days, because fuck that, who wants to go back and re-live their past? I sure as hell don’t.”

As much as she tried to resist it, Peggy felt a smile form on her face, because even though his demeanor had obviously changed, it hadn’t changed _that_ much. “Well, I don’t either. But…” she said, trailing off. She traced the outline of an elaborate sandcastle that was on the front of the third card. “But I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to see you in person again. Don’t worry about leaving your sunshine behind. I’ll come to you. I’m due up for a vacation, anyway,” she concluded, shocking the hell out of herself for saying that. Her heart was beating so fast, she swore that Don could hear it on the other end of the phone, even though she knew that that was impossible.

“What? Don’t you have responsibilities? It’s not like you to randomly pack up and take off,” Don commented, sounding just as shocked as Peggy felt.

“We all know that the category of ‘randomly pack up and leave’ historically belongs to you, Don. Don’t worry, nobody will take it away. I do things by the book, for the most part. At least when it comes to asking for time off and making sure there’s people to cover me. That’s one advantage of working at a monster company like this-there’s always someone willing to step in while you’re away. And before you ask, nobody is going to steal my brilliant ideas because I keep them all under lock and key. They can have my bullshit puff projects to work on that I wasn’t going to do, anyway.”

Don chuckled at the end part of her comment “That sounds like the Peggy I remember,” he said which made her feel relieved. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be such a terrible idea, after all.

“Thank you,” she humbly replied, smiling once more as she looked at the cards. Shaking all pre-vacation notions from her mind, she transitioned into the business woman she was on a daily basis. “Currently, it’s already Tuesday. If I can manage to get out there by Friday, would that be ok?”

“That would work. Most of my days are spent doing what I want, now that don’t work anymore,” he said. Peggy could practically picture the proud, smug expression he was surly sporting on his face right now.

“Oh, rub it in, why don’t you?” she teased, playing their old game of Who Has It Worse.

Don only laughed before saying, “See you on Friday.”

“WAIT! How will I get a hold of you if I need to ask you something before the trip? And when I do arrive, where do I go?” Her voice might’ve been a bit too loud for a typical office setting, even with the door closed, but she didn’t care. Through no fault of her own, she had a Type-A personality and was a planner by nature. It was one of the things that had made her such a good secretary when she first started out in this industry, and still served her well now, even though her sectorial days were long behind her.

“Do you still have that phone number I gave you?” he asked, sounding as if he was trying to stifle a yawn. Peggy suspected it was because he was used to napping at this hour instead of talking on the phone to people. At least that was one thing still constant about him. As long as she had known him, he had always been a big middle-of-the-day nap taker. There had been more than one occasion where she had woken him up from one of his booze-induced naps in order to be able to get down to business.

“The shit one that never seems to work? Yeah, it’s in my Rolodex, filed next to your old business card.” Her mind began to wander, and she couldn’t help but think about all of times she had gone searching for Don in the weeks after his departure to ask him something about a client or to tell him some good news, only to remember that he didn’t work there anymore.

“Good. Keep it handy. I promise that I’ll answer that line from now on. If it’s not me that answers, it’ll be somebody I trust that won’t hang up on you. O.k.?”

“O.k.,” she replied, glancing down at the cards once more. Each one had a different image of a familiar, iconic California landmark. Her favorite one had to be the one of a vibrant sunset ironically overlooking the famed Sunset Boulevard. “Are you going to come get me once I land?”

“Jesus, Peggy, do you need a plan for everything? It’s California. Just _arrive_. Arrive and be yourself. I guarantee that you’ll be able to find your way to meet me. I haven’t changed _that_ much since I’ve been here. And if for some reason, you can’t find me, well, you do have that phone number you can always call.”

Ahh. There was the snarky Don Draper she remembered. She found it funny how him talking to her had suddenly pulled the it back out if him. “All right, then. _Excuse_ me for trying to be prepared,” she said, abandoning the cards to flip through the Rolodex next to her phone. 

“I wouldn’t expect it any other way. It’s what makes you such a good negotiator,” he said, the mellow tone he had had throughout the majority of their conversation back in his voice. “So I’ll see you here on Friday.”

“Yep. Friday it’ll be.” She immediately wanted to kick herself for saying something so lame like that, even if was only Don she was talking to.

If Don noticed her comment, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, all he said was, “And hey, thanks for not hanging up on me. I know it had to be tempting, and I get why. I appreciate you not doing it, though. It’s nice knowing that not _everyone_ in New York hates me.”

“We don’t hate _you_. We hate what you were able to _do_ and get away with,” she smoothly said in response, loving how he wouldn’t know if she was talking about the run-a-way incident or some of the other bull-shit he had pulled while he was still big honcho on top at the agency. “Anything else you gotta tell me? I still have real work to do, you know.”

“No. I don’t have anything else to say right now. I said everything I wanted to.”

“Well, I did, too. It was nice to finally be able to talk to you after so long. Goodbye, Don.”

“ _Au revoir_ , Peggy.”

She gently placed the phone back in its cradle, not noticing that in the time she’d been talking to her old boss, the rest of her phone lines were lit up waiting for her to answer them. She got up out of her desk chair, the cards and Rolodex still out sitting next to each other and wandered over to the window in her office. The view she had here was much nicer than the once she’d had in the old offices of SCDP. There, she’d only been able to see neighboring sky scrapers and sometimes, if she was lucky, a commotion in the street. Here at McCann and Erikson, however, she was fortunate to be able to overlook Central Park, which always had a calming effect on her. Sometimes, if she squinted, she could _just_ make out the Chrysler building in the distance. Strange as it was, she had always preferred the Chrysler building to the Empire State building. It was the most unique skyscraper in the city, even if it was fifty-some years old by now.

In a lot of ways, the Chrysler building reminded her of herself. Just like how no one had believed in her all of those years ago when she had first started working at Sterling-Cooper, no one had believed in the Chrysler building when it has first been built during the times of Prohibition. Obviously, the nay-sayers had been wrong about both. The Chrysler building was now an iconic New York City landmark, and Peggy had thrived these past couple of years in the advertising business.

As she looked down at the city, taking in not only the park, but all of the people hurrying and scurrying to get through their days, she suddenly understood why Don had left the way he had. He was simply trying to get away from it all, or course, but it was more than that. It was the pressure to always come up with amazing ideas, to follow the system, to never break any rules. Even if she was still a little irritated at him for leaving, she _did_ have to admire his bravery to basically say, “Fuck the system!” by leaving like that. His exit was what every high-end employee dreamed of, even if they wouldn’t dare admit that to anyone.

Turning away from her window now, Peggy knew what she needed to do next. She quickly walked to her door, where she flung it open and walked down the hallway. If she looked like she meant business, it was because she did. She was going to California, and nobody, not even upper management was going to stop her.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

_Salton City, California_

_2 hours and 42 minutes south of Los Angeles_

After saying good-bye to Peggy, Don Draper sat down on the dusty ground below him. He leaned his back up against the wall and pulled his legs in close to his chest, thinking about nothing and everything. The phone he was at was a pay-phone close to the retreat he liked to go to usually every day. It was the same retreat he had been at when he had first arrived in California six months ago, and now he felt too loyal to it to completely stop going. Besides, the yoga and relaxing therapy sessions had done him a shit-ton of good since leaving the hustling, bustling city life he had grown accustomed to.

He had his own apartment now, a little two-bedroomed place that was in a chilled-out area of town. It was quite different from the spacious townhouse he had lived in with Megan back in New York. It was also a contrast to the place he knew Megan had last had in Los Angeles; all trendy, hip, and fancy. He had had the option to rent one of those hip, fancy places, but that wasn’t what he had had in mind. He had wanted a complete reset; something different and unexpected than what he was used to. He had just wanted cozy little place that he could easily make into a home, even if it _was_ only a home for one most of the time.

It had only taken him a week to find the place he was in now, and he could honestly see himself staying there for a while. It had everything he was looking for, plus a few added bonus features. It sort of reminded him of the first apartment he had gotten for himself after Betty insisted that he move out of their suburban neighborhood home way back when. The only difference was that this apartment didn’t have any negative vibes to it. There were no bad memories associated with it, and he wasn’t living there because he had gotten kicked out somewhere and had no place else to go.

          As Don sat there thinking, his mind kept being drawn back to thoughts about his past. He thought about his ex-wives, his children, his old business associates, the many side-chicks he had had, and all of the lies he had told. God, there’d so many lies. He had been an extreme liar, not only to other people, but also to himself. If there was one thing he wanted to make sure happened when Peggy came out, it was that he tell her the truth. Out of all of the people in his life, past or present, he felt that he owed it to her to be honest, especially after the way he had left things with her.

Plus, he had a confession to make, and it was obvious that confessions of any kind required honesty. It was something he already knew she was going to be irritated to hear, but it needed to be said.

At the same time, the secret was extremely toxic, which was why he was planning to hold off telling her it until she was about to leave and go back to New York. Would it put a sour end to their visit? Of course it would. That was a non-starter.

 He could only hope that she had it in her to one day accept his confession as the truth and the apology that would inevitably go along with it. It wouldn’t be _right_ away that she accepted the statement, he knew that much of course. Plus, Peggy had always been a bit stubborn, which is why they had always made such a good team, even back when she was just his secretary. She would accept his words when she was good and ready, and there was absolutely. nothing he could about that. She was who she was, and she was in fact a strong, independent, courageous, fucking _fearless_ , champion of a woman. In other words, she was a force to be reckoned with, and by all means, he was prepared to go down, even if it meant losing what little dignity he had left in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Good start or nah? 
> 
> By the way, a lot of research went into picking out the perfect little town for Don to be living in in California. That having been said, Salton City is 100% real, and it has a really fascinating history that I encourage all of you to check out. There's a symbolism behind why I picked it for him to be living here...I'll give a gold star to the first person that figures it out!


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy is packing up to temporarily leave her home city of New York.

_New York City_

_Thursday, May 6 th _

          It had been easier than she had thought it would be to request and secure time off without much of an advanced notice. When she had marched into Rick Morton’s office, she had been prepared for a fight. She had had several good arguments stored up in her head for all of the possible things he might say, but she hadn’t needed to use them at all. “I’m not going to be here this Friday, or next week at all because I’m taking a well-deserved vacation. And I’m only working half the day this week Thursday, so I have ample time to pack and prepare for this trip,” she had boldly stated, not budging in her stance. Her arms had been crossed, and she knew that she had a tough look on her face.

          “This Friday and all of next week plus only half a day this Thursday? Alright, sounds reasonable,” Rick had only casually said in response, much to her shock.

          “Ok…are you sure?” she had finally been able to ask after getting over her initial shock.

          “Absolutely. You’re one of the best workers we have here at McCann-Erikson. And at least you have the balls to formally ask for time off. All these other schmucks sneak around and act like I can’t tell when they’re not here. And you know what? It’s probably been a long time since you’ve had a vacation, right?”

          “Yeah…” Peggy had trailed off, not sure at that point where the conversation was heading.

          “That’s what I thought. You can have that entire week off, not just up to Wednesday. It’ll be good for you. Maybe you’ll even come back with some new ideas for ads.”

          “Oh. Ok. Of course, sir. Thank you.”

          Rick had chuckled in a way that reminded her of old Bert Cooper, which was a fair comparison, even if Rick was thirty years younger than Bert had been when he died. “There’s no reason to thank me. I just try to do right by my employees. See you later, Miss Olson.”

          “See ya,” Peggy had awkwardly said, walking back out of his office. She had still felt confident and secure in her decision, and she was pleased it had worked out the way it had.

          The two and a half days it had taken for Thursday afternoon to get there had flown by, especially because she had been trying to assign people to work on her puff projects while she finished up the stuff that actually had merit. Now it was _finally_ Thursday afternoon, and she was back at her and Stan’s apartment after leaving it only a few hours prior. She got out her two new suitcases, a large powder blue one covered in white psychedelic daisies outlined in black, and a medium-sized one, the design on it the opposite of the large suitcase. She wasn’t planning on bringing that much with her out West-just the bare necessities plus a few frivolous things that she might end up needing because Don was Don and she never knew what to expect whenever she met with him. It had always been like that, and it was just one of his personality traits she was used to by now, even though she hadn’t seen him in six months.

It didn’t take her long to finish packing. She had done a little bit of it day by day, starting on Tuesday night as soon as she had gotten home from work. May in New York was usually pretty mild, the temperatures only beginning to rise towards the end of the month. Obviously, New York weather wasn’t at all like California weather, and she had packed accordingly, pulling her summer clothes out of storage so that she would have things to wear.

After making sure that she had everything in her suitcases, she zipped them up and checked the time on her large, statement-making wrist watch, which had a thick white band, delicate gold face, and bold black lines in place of numbers. It was currently 4:15. She didn’t have to be at JFK until 5, so she had forty-five minutes of free time before she went on her little trip. She hauled her suitcases out of the bedroom, moving them close to the apartment’s front door so that she could easily grab them when it was time to leave.

After accomplishing that, she plopped down in her favorite, overstuffed teal chair; the one she had rescued from a flea market when she and Stan had been looking for different furniture for this apartment. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled. It had been a long week, and she was worn out. If she had time, she would have honestly covered up with a blanket and taken a nap, but she didn’t trust herself to wake back up in time to make her flight.

 So instead, she reached for her larger-than-normal handbag; the bright, lipstick red leather one she liked to take along on trips because of its size and sensibility. It contained all of items she usually put in a purse, but of course she had added a few different things specifically for this trip.

She took those items out now and set them down on the sliver coffee table in front of her, as if to confirm that she was really taking them out west with her.

The cigar box, filled with Don’s postcards and some other small, random trinkets was one of those items. She wasn’t really sure why she was taking it along, but she felt like she should. It could come in handy when she least expected it.

The next item was a small package from Stan, who had given it to her right before she had left the office earlier. He had instructed her to open it only when she arrived in the Golden State, and she was curious as to what it might be. She was a fair game player, though, and would ultimately abide by his ruling, even though the rebel feminist inside her had wanted to tear it open as soon as she had received it.

The last thing she had put in her handbag that she didn’t normally carry with her was her journal. Peggy had always liked writing and her opinion, was good at it, so writing about events from the day had come naturally to her.

The journal was about the size and shape of a thick, hard-back novel, which was an appropriate comparison, considering the fact that it was literally a blank book. Well, it had been, anyway. Now, it was a little more than halfway filled out, the pages puffing out in the way paper did when it had writing on both sides. The cover of the journal was a chic purple plaid design with small white and red details accompanying it. The book was held shut by a small red buckle, which had begun to stretch and slightly break, and because she didn’t want it to completely rip off, she didn’t use that feature on it anymore.

She had had this journal for about seven years, since she had first started at the original Sterling-Cooper. The second she had walked through those glass doors for an interview, she knew that life as she knew it would change. As soon as the interview was finished, she had gone out to her local stationery store to purchase a long-lasting journal in order to document every crazy thing that happened at her new job, even though at that point, it wasn’t even guaranteed that she was hired.

Though she had often been busy between her job and life in general, she had always made time to write a little something in the journal usually at least once a week, and _especially_ if something extra-exciting had been going on that week. Nobody, not even Stan, knew about her habit, mostly because she wrote in it late at night when she was supposed to be sleeping. She supposed that one day she would tell somebody about it, but as for right now, she was happy with having it remain her little secret.

The latest entry in it was from the day she had spoken to Don on the phone. It highlighted the facts of the conversation, how she felt about him finally calling her on the phone, and why she was going out there despise her original inclination to never see that man ever again in her lifetime. She had also noted that the flight she was about to be on, now in a little under half an hour, was only fifth flight she had been on in her lifetime **.** It was a fact about her that wasn’t well known, mostly because of the current position she held at her job. Of course, she _had_ flown before, to meet various clients, but not as often as people liked to assume. She had also never flown out anywhere for a vacation, so this flight would be a first for that.

As she sat there thinking, she recalled a conversation she had had with Don on her 26th birthday when they were sitting in a diner together. They had talked about a little of everything that night, but the detail now thought about was when they had talked about planes and flying. It felt ironic to her that he fifth flight would be out to him, even though that conversation had happened years ago.

Peggy picked up the journal and thumbed through the pages, taking in the differences in her hand writing, the various ink colors, and the length of the entries. It was interesting to see what she had thought was worthwhile to write down and how her relationships had changed with people over the years.

Back when she was still Don’s secretary, she hadn’t imagined ever being close friends with Joan, for example, because Joan had been as cold as ice to her when she had first started there, particularly after she had proved her worth by getting the Belle Jolie account. She laughed out loud to herself in the empty apartment, because now they still talked on a regular basis, even though she now had her own ad agency that she had started herself out in California. Peggy made a mental note to herself to go visit Joan for an afternoon while she had this time off. It would be so worthwhile, especially because the pair hadn’t seen each other in person in the same amount of time she’d last seen Don in person.

          Peggy stood up and stretched, checking her watch one last time. She was planning on leaving a bit early in order to get to JFK on time, because traffic in New York City was always crazy. She put the cigar box, Stan’s present, and her beloved journal all back in their respective places in her purse before grabbing her favorite tan trench coat from where she had left it on their electric-green velvet couch. She then slung the bag over her shoulder and swiftly walked to the front door, thankful that she had made the decision to purchase suitcases with wheels on them.

          In the elevator, she pulled out her imitation Jackie O-style sunglasses from her handbag and put them on, knowing how bright it was outside. She was feeling giddy and confident as the elevator descended into the lobby, and that feeling only grew as she exited her building and hailed a cab. Though it would certainly be strange to see Don again after all of this time, she couldn’t deny that she was also excited to see her old boss again. She had missed all of his good parts as well as the bad ones. It would be interesting to see how much this move to California had changed him. She was only mere hours away from finding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on her leaving? Other things you thought as you read it? Tell me in the comments! :)


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy and Don FINALLY see each other in person for the first time in 6 months!

_California_

_Los Angeles International Airport_

_Terminal 5_

_Friday, May 7 th _

Don lived a simple life now. For the most part, that meant a life without a stuffy three-piece suit, constantly worrying about the competition, and most importantly, not being concerned with what time it was. He had even taken off the watch he had worn every day since he had become Don Draper, which had honestly felt weird at first. By now, though he was used to not wearing it, so having it back on seemed out of place and just plain weird.

The reason he was wearing it, though, wasn’t for vanity reasons, as one might have first assumed, even if the handsome, black leather band and rich 14 karat gold face told a different story. It was the only watch he had ever really owned, and he was proud of that fact alone, even if it _was_ a link to his past. The reason he had put it on today for the first time in six months was because he needed to be able to tell about when Peggy would be there. He knew that her flight all the way from New York would be in very soon, and he kept anxiously checking the watch as a result.

He was in the general greeting area of LAX, surrounded by families, boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands, mistresses, friends, co-workers, and children, who were each doing their own thing as they waited for their people to arrive, too. He sat back deeper in the dark blue plastic chair he was occupying and took in the scene around him. For the most part, he didn’t miss his job at all, and he rarely thought about what could have been if he had stayed. But whenever he found himself in a setting like this, especially when he people watched, he felt an ache deep in his chest for advertising. The people were what made the business interesting, and it was a shame that more clients didn’t see that.

The noise level of the greeting area had increased by a couple of decibels, and he quickly stood up, realizing that it was most likely because the passengers were finally out of baggage claim and were ambling over to the area where everyone was waiting for everyone.

Even in a crowd, Don managed to stand out, which was something he had known about himself for a while now. It was what it was, even if he sometimes wished that he could become invisible to rid the constant gazes he always felt being aimed at him.

He casually made his way to the front of the pack and patiently stood there, scanning the crowd of travelers for Peggy. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his crisp, casual white shorts, wondering if her appearance had changed any the last six months. He obtained the answer sooner than he had anticipated when he spotted her a few seconds later, looking just as he remembered her to be.

 She was wearing a sleek, classic, cream-colored crew-neck sweater with a brown plaid mini-skirt. She also had on brown knee-high socks that matched the skirt, and an open tan trench coat that floated behind her as if it were a cape. Her shoes were a low-heeled brown pair with shiny gold accents that periodically glinted onto the floor, due to the lighting. Her usual wrist-watch aside, Peggy didn’t normally wear much jewelry or extravagant accessories, and she didn’t even really need to, because her outfits said it all. She still wasn’t wearing any jewelry, but she _had_ decided to kick things up a notch by accessorizing with a lookalike pair of classic Jackie O sunglasses. Making the overall effect of the outfit simple and chic. He could easily imagine her proudly strutting through the halls of McCann-Erikson wearing it, not giving a fuck if people assumed her to be something she wasn’t.

He began to smile, not only because the image of Peggy ignoring her critics to get shit done, but also because it was amazing to see her again after all of this time. Hell, he didn’t even have a picture of her that he could occasionally look at. It was a fact he had only discovered after going through all of the once-forgotten photographs from SCDP that had been left behind at the old building. Somehow, they had ended up in his old office, which was strange to him because he knew that Joan was the unofficial-official record keeper of the company, so if they would’ve ended up in _anyone’s_ old office, he assumed that it would have been hers. The photographs had been sent to him in a large manila envelope, and the envelope had been inside a box. They had arrived in February, three months after he had left New York, and though he had looked though all of them by now, he hadn’t gotten around to putting them in any type of permanent album quite yet.

He kept his eyes on her as she glanced at the large crowd of people in front of her, obviously searching for him. He was debating on moving forward to greet her, but just as he had decided to move, her gaze landed on the exact spot where he was standing. She took off her sunglasses and squinted at him, as if to make sure that it was really _him_ and not a random stranger that happened to look like him. Don took his right hand out of his pocket and casually waved, the easygoing smile he had had moments ago back on his lips.

Peggy slipped her shades into her oversized, bright red handbag, waving once and broadly smiling back. She quickly walked over to where he was standing, and when she finally reached him, he instinctively outstretched his arms to hug her. She dropped her suitcases at her feet and leaned into the hug. The pair stayed that way only for a couple of seconds, and it was Peggy that pulled away first. She took a few steps backwards and looked at Don from head to toe. “Nice shirt,” she finally said, her smile remaining on her face. “It’s very…tropical.”

“Thanks. I knew you would love it,” Don joked, glancing down at his attire. Along with the white shorts, he was wearing a bright blue polo shirt with hot pink flamingos, neon-yellow pineapples, and black palm trees on it, all of the items swirling in different directions. The button line and collar of the polo had thin hot pink, neon yellow, and black stripes on it to really bring out the only-acceptable-in-a-perpetually-warm-climate symbols. “I got it at a tourist stand.”

“I never thought that you would be one to fall into a touristy-trap and buy shit that the locals wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole,” Peggy bantered back, picking her suitcases back up. “I mean damn, Don, you’ve been here for six months already. How much longer until you consider yourself to be a local?”

Don let the question sit with him, choosing to not answer it because the truth was that he didn’t even _have_ a real answer to it. Even though he could feel it in his bones that California was the place for him to be, he admittedly sometimes still felt a bit out of place. He changed the subject by posing his own question. “You ready to get out of here?”

Peggy briskly nodded. “Of course. Did you drive here?”

“Sort of…” Don trailed off as he turned away from Peggy and began to walk in the direction of his ride. Without looking back, he knew that she was keeping his pace because he could hear the wheels of her suitcase rattling against the glossy tile floor behind him.

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” Peggy asked above the noise of the airport.

“It means that you’ll just have to wait and see,” Don mysteriously replied, knowing that his response would only drive her up the wall further. He’d seen her reactions plenty of times in the past when he had annoyed her, and he was picturing one those looks now. “How was your flight?”

 “Well, I splurged and upgraded to first class. I felt like it was worth it, especially after I saw how they deal with things in third class. It was really nice. I had time to sleep, catch up on some reading, do some writing, and think about things I want to do while I’m out here for a week. Overall, it wasn’t a bad experience. It was better than any flight I’ve ever been on for business,” she said, now walking _beside_ Don instead of _behind_ him, since she had finally been able to match his quick pace.

He looked at her with disbelief, not sure if he had heard her correctly. “You’ve never flown anywhere where you haven’t had to meet a client? Seriously?” He unintentionally raised his right eyebrow, something he always did when he found a story to be conflicting.

“Nope. I never had the opportunity to. I’ve always been bad about making time for myself; time that isn’t spent on work. The longest vacation I ever took was three days long, but two of those days don’t even count, because it was a Saturday-Sunday-Monday sort of thing. Anyway, some friends and I drove to New Jersey and spent that weekend at the beach,” she explained as they sauntered past a newsstand. The May 7th _L.A. Times_ headline screamed **UNITED STATES CEASE 3 RD MARINE EXPEDITIONARY BRIGADE AIR AND GROUND OPERATIONS IN VIETNAM. Deactivation is thought to follow. **

Don nodded, understanding her logic and making a mental note to pick up a newspaper later. Peggy was the hardest working person he knew. Of course, she wouldn’t have time for a long vacation. She had already decided to dedicate herself to her career the second she had stepped foot into the Sterling-Cooper offices way back when. “Wait, but what about Ted, though? Ted had his own plane. And as embarrassing as it might be, I _know_ that you guys used to date,” Don questioned, the thought coming to him just as suddenly as the idea to call Peggy up had been.

“Ted never brought up his status as a pilot when I was with him, and he never offered to fly me anywhere in his personal plane. Of course I knew that he had his pilot’s license, but I honestly didn’t care. I had more important things to worry about than if he could legally fly or not.” If she was embarrassed by him bringing up her past, he certainly couldn’t tell by the tone of her voice or the way she held her head high.

“You know, I was in his plane once. He flew us out to meet a client.”

“Of course he did. He probably wanted to make a good impression on the client. I’d bet anything that you were jealous and thought that the client would end up liking him better because of it. That’s how you always tended to be, whether you realized it or not. We all saw it in that office,” Peggy commented, dodging a pair of little boys who were running after each other with toy cars. Right behind them was their mom-figure, desperately chasing after them, in an attempt to get them back to where they were supposed to be.

          Don said nothing, because he knew what she had said was true. More often than not, he _had_ been jealous whenever people accomplished greater things than he did. He had always been especially sore if a client didn’t prefer him and his sales pitch by default.

They pair walked in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of the airport swelling around them. Everything and nothing needed to be said between them, but they were happy with living in the moment for right now.

“Hey, do you remember when I worked for CGC for that short period of time before they combined with you guys at SCDP?” Peggy suddenly asked, breaking Don out of thought.

“Yeah,” Don replied. It was one of his more heart-wrenching memories because it was the first time he had realized how much Peggy truly meant to him. It had been hard working without her in those weeks before the merge, and even if he had never expressed it, he had been thrilled to have her back in his office space again.

“About a week after I had been employed there, Ted gave me the task of branding this new ladies-type cigarette. I told you about it when we ran into each other at the movie theater.”

Don nodded, wordlessly encouraging her to go on. He very clearly remembered that day. It was the first time since she left that he had seen her. By then she wasn’t angry at him anymore for choosing to do what he had done. She had even let him sit next to her in the theater.

“’ _Smoke it, name it, sell it_ ’, is what he had said.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “I know I told you that they were sending me on a plane to Richmond, Virginia along with Frank Gleason for us to tour the factory.”

“I remember,” he simply said. In fact, he remembered most of the conversations he had had with old co-workers, but he _especially_ remembered the ones he had had with Peggy.

She looked over at him and briefly smiled before continuing. “That had been my first official plane trip. To tell you the truth, it was the worst flying experience I have ever had. The trip itself wasn’t terrible, but it was very boring. I was excited to finally be flying, of course, but I didn’t know what to expect. I had set my overall expectations way too high.” She chuckled, clearly thinking of her past self, pausing for a brief second before adding, “But shit, even the end destination of that trip was boring!”

Don chuckled at her end comment. “Did this trip meet your expectations?” he asked, referencing what she had said earlier, genuinely interested to know the answer.

She smiled a content smile as she answered, “Yes. The flight was very low-key and relaxing, but not at all boring. It also helpful to know that the end destination this time would be awesome.”

Don was morbidly curious, about something she had just said but he didn’t want to seem too eager, so he waited a beat before asking his next question. “The destination to California or the destination to me?”

Peggy laughed once more and answered the question with a question. “You just never stop, do you?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he coyly responded, looking down at the blue, grey, and white speckled tile floor, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Sure, whatever you say, Don,” Peggy retorted, still keeping his pace step for step. By now, they were nearly to the main entrance/exit area of the airport, which meant that they were nearly to Don’s ride. The pair seamlessly walked past all of the joyful reunions, sappy departures, and mediocre salesmen desperately trying to reach all of these diverse people in a last-ditch effort to sell whatever it was they were trying to sell.  

They eventually wove their way through the rest of the crowd and made it outside, where the air was fresh and clear in the best way possible. It was a welcome change from the stale, gross air that they had been breathing in just a few seconds prior. 

The walk outside to his ride wasn’t long at all, especially with the brisk pace they’d been doing. “Well…here it is,” Don said, as he abruptly stopped walking, causing Peggy to almost run into him, regardless of the fact that she had been walking right next to him. He looked at Peggy, waiting for her reaction to his new mode of transportation.

She stood there for a few seconds, not saying anything, her eyes moving up and down the curves of the vehicle. “Ummm...what? Sorry, I’m confused,” she finally said, shaking her head and chuckling to herself, her hand on her chin as she studied the motorcycle. “This is your ride? What happened to your brand new silver Cadillac?”

“I gave it away to an eighteen-year-old kid who needed it more than me. That was before I made it to this little town, also known as my final destination. I hitchhiked the rest of the way to get here,” he explained, anticipating her next question. “To be honest with you, I wasn’t planning on buying another motor vehicle, but there are just some places you can’t walk to, including the airport. I’ve only had it for about five and a half months by now.”

Peggy nodded, still studying the motorbike. She shrugged and turned her attention to Don. “It’s cute and suits you. Except not the color. What kind of color even _is_ that?! Please don’t tell me that you painted it this color by choice.”

He could feel the toothy grin he seemed to reserve only for Peggy re-surface on his face before he answered her. “No, this color wasn’t by choice. This is the original manufacture color, popular with Ducati in the late sixties and now currently in the early seventies. This model is from last year, 1970, and it doesn’t have that many miles on it.”

“You must have gotten it for a hell of a deal. It’s in amazing condition.”

“I did, actually. Here’s the thing about it having this awful of a color: nobody wanted to buy it, even with it being in the condition it’s in.” Don shook his head and chuckled. “Those people are idiots. They forgot that you can repaint anything you want, including motorcycles.”

Peggy nodded and tapped her chin, considering this fact. “That’s true. So why haven’t _you_ re-painted it yet? Haven’t found a shade dark enough to cover up this puke green color?”

“The sales guy informed me that this color is known as olive-gold,” Don replied, a small amount of sass behind his voice. With an amused smile on her face, Peggy rolled her eyes, and he smiled back before continuing with what he had been saying. “I have two colors picked out, and I need your help to decide which one to make it. After that, we can quickly repaint this otherwise badass motorcycle.”

“You’re going to repaint it yourself? And you want me to help? Shouldn’t that be left to an autobody shop that have people there that actually know what they’re doing?”

“Yeah, I _could_ do that. But the fact of the matter is, Peggy, I don’t _want_ to do that. I trust your judgement for which color will be best, and I think that painting it together will be a good experience for us. It can’t be that hard to repaint a motorcycle. Not to mention that I already have all of the supplies for it.”

Peggy tapped her chin thoughtfully with her right hand and looked off into the distance before turning her attention back to Don to answer him. “Well, I suppose I have created ad campaigns more difficult than this. And it’s only painting, so it’s not like I have to be amazing at drawing.”

“That’s the spirit,” Don said, placing his right arm briefly around the shoulders of his former co-worker-turned-friend. “I’ll get the colors out when we get to my apartment. Make sure you give your cab driver the address.” He let go of her shoulders and promptly pulled out a small notebook from the pocket of his shorts, ripping out a pre-written page.

She accepted the page from his outstretched hand, glancing at his all-capital lettering before looking back up at him. “I’ll be sure to relay the message. Thanks for thinking of me,” she said, gesturing to her luggage. “There’s no way all of my shit would fit on your sweet ‘cycle.”

Don chuckled, appreciating that she still had her sense of humor. He pulled his pair of aviator sunglasses from the back pocket of his shorts and slipped them on before climbing onto the sleek bike. “Don’t get lost,” he teased her before she walked off in search of an unoccupied cab.

Peggy only laughed and hollered over her shoulder, “I’ll try not to!”

With an obvious sense of confidence, she turned and strutted away from where Don sat on his transportation. Don watched as she navigated the thinning crowd. He waited until she was able to catch a cab before placing his keys in the ignition of the bike.

The ‘cycle had bite to it, and usually transported him from Point A to Point B in a timely manner. He had always been a fast driver, and owning this Ducati felt like more of a direct representation of his driving skills as opposed to any of the cars he had previously owned. It was also smaller than any of the cars he had ever driven, but he was ok with that because the almost miniature size of it just made it easier for him to weave in and out of traffic without many reparations.

The drive from the airport to his apartment complex was long, in both terms of distance and length. He lived two hours south of Los Angeles, but traffic had been light, despite it being towards the beginning of rush hour.

He knew the route by heart, though, so in his mind, the drive was shorter than it actually was. As he drove along interstate 10, he let his mind wander. Nothing was off limits when he drove, a fact that was both completely freeing and absolutely terrifying.

Before he knew it, he was back in his new, perfectly peaceful town. Just like he knew the route from L.A. to Salton City by memory, he knew the layout of his town by memory, too. His apartment complex was right in the middle of town and he had easy access to everything he could ever want.

Upon pulling into the parking lot of his complex, and parking, he quickly hopped off of his mode of transportation. If the cab driver knew where he was going, Peggy wouldn’t be far behind, and he wanted to get to his apartment before she beat him to it.

As he climbed the stairs to access the ninth floor, he felt a pang pf nervousness encase his body. Don wasn’t used to feeling nervous; it was as if his system didn’t allow it. He chalked his spout of nervousness up to the fact that it was going to be the first time in a long time that he had ever had somebody in his home that he truly cared about. He wanted to make a good impression on Peggy and prove to her that he really _was_ better-off out here.

He had this one golden opportunity for closure between them, and he would make sure that he took full advantage of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do y'all think of Don having a motorcycle?! Isn't it SUCH a "California Don" thing to do? Haha, and what about Peggy's reaction to it? x,D 
> 
> As usual, tell me what you think of these things and whatever else is on your mind in the comments below :)


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy sees where Don lives in Salton City and they both find out some important information while in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real history from that famous Coke ad (you know the one!) is mentioned in this chapter. I changed it a bit to make it cater more this story, but the grand history in regards to the real creation of the ad is still there.

_Salton City, California_

_Friday, May 7 th_

“Thank you,” Peggy warmly said to her cab driver as she handed him his fare. The cabbie, an older Iranian looking gentleman, tipped his grey flat-cap, grandpa-style hat in her direction, smiling back. He slowly ambled back to the driver’s side of the mid-sized yellow-orange car while Peggy propped her suitcases up by the handle so that she could use the wheels on them.

The building in front of her was tall, but not like the skyscrapers she was used to in New York. The most stories this building looked to have was twenty, if even that. On the way over, she had memorized the floor and apartment letter that Don lived in, so she kept the little piece of paper he had given her tucked inside her purse. She glanced to the left of the building, to an area that seemed to be a parking lot for the tenants. Her thoughts were confirmed when she saw Don’s puke-green colored Ducati parked haphazardly in a space between a brand new bright yellow Corvette and a rusty, faded red Ford pickup truck.

It was a relief to see that he was already here and that she would not have to wait on him. It was kind of strange, too, because when they had worked together, all she had ever done was wait on him. She tore her eyes away from his new mode of transportation, took a deep breath, and began walking towards the apartment complex. When she approached the door, there was no doorman to greet her, but she didn’t mind. It cut out the painful task of small talk when all she really wanted was to get to the core of why she was there.

Walking up nine flights of stairs wasn’t as treacherous as she first thought it might be, even with the slight heel on her shoes and one suitcase in each hand. Once on the right floor, she easily found apartment H and quickly knocked on the door. As she waited for Don to answer, she could just barely make out the sound of tropical music; something with ukuleles and a calm, reassuring message most likely relating to how everything was going to end up being alright.

The soft sound of the beach-based music was slightly amplified moments later when Don swung open the door, uncharacteristically smiling a toothy grin. “Glad you found the place. Welcome to my new home. Come on in,” he said, gesturing to the inside of his new living space before turning his back and stepping aside to lead her inside.

Upon entering his new home, the first thing she noticed was how perfectly lived in it felt. It had quirks and was certainly not up to “model apartment” standards, but that was ok. The vibe of the place was a cool, relaxed one she immediately liked, and she hoped that it wasn’t just a front that Don was putting on. For her sake as well as his, she seriously hoped that he had lived like this ever since he first got this place.

The layout of the apartment was simple enough but seemed to have plenty of space. The entryway with a typical closet for coats lead into the sand-colored living room, and the living room lead into the cozy kitchen. There was a large picture window in the kitchen that overlooked the California town, and to the right of the window sat a small table built for two.

To the left of the living room was a short hallway, and as she glanced down it, she saw that there were three closed doors staring back at her. She assumed that the three rooms were bedrooms and a bathroom, but she would have to wait and see if her prediction was correct. There was another hallway to the right of the kitchen, and it looked like it contained at least two different rooms.

The furniture in his place was minimal but chic, as if living and being with all of those women for all of those years had influenced his taste in decorating. He seemed to stick with airy textures and light colors throughout the apartment, and his walls were filled with framed, personal photographs. She didn’t notice much professional artwork hanging up in the living space, which she thought was sort of strange considering the fact that he had had many pieces back in New York.

“So what do you think?” Don asked, breaking Peggy out of her thoughts.

“I love it. It is so you. After all of this time, you’ve finally managed to design a space that embodies your true spirit. Congratulations,” she casually replied, looking once more at the space that surrounded her before looking back at Don.

Don shrugged, a playful look on his face. “I do what I can with what I have. All of the things you see here I bought second hand. Even that rug you’re standing on.” He gestured to Peggy’s feet, and she looked down to notice the hand-woven turquoise, emerald and tan colored rug beneath her feet.

“Hmmm,” was all Peggy said in response, not knowing what else to say. She shifted from her right foot to her left, forgetting that she was still wearing her trench coat and holding her suitcases. “What’s behind the doors in the left hallway?” she finally asked after a brief moment of silence, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“I knew you would. Come on,” he said. Quick as she could, she put down her suitcases and took off her coat, leaving it draped over a chair whose light color resembled that of orange sherbet.

The hallway was not carpeted, and while Don’s barefoot steps were silent and unnoticeable, hers were loud and musical because of the heel on her shoes. She self-consciously cringed, wishing that she had worn flat, silent shoes. She knew that this small detail was bigger in her head than in real life though; she doubted that Don had even noticed or cared about the sound of her shoes.

The first room he lead her to was all the way at the end of the hall, and when he swung the door open, she was greeted by the warm, familiar scent of coconuts and pineapple. It was the same scent that had often been present in Don’s office back in New York. Once, when he had been talking to Roger in a closed-door meeting in his office and she had been eavesdropping on their conversation in her own office next door, she had heard him explain that the scent calmed and relaxed him. She wasn’t sure where he had gotten the scent from, but it was a part of his identity now.

“This is my bedroom,” he explained, stepping inside the air-conditioned room. “All the true comforts I need are right here.”

Peggy nodded, cautiously stepping into the room as if it might be booby-trapped. She thought it would feel weird to be in such close proximity to a place where Don slept every night, but to her surprise, it didn’t. She accounted it to the fact that when they had been co-workers, she had seen him nap on multiple occasions. The pair had even fallen asleep together on the couch in her office on the eve of her 26th birthday, after a weird but good night of working, eating, talking, and drinking.

She took in the room, noticing the massive amount of books he had stacked up on his desk. “Got enough books?” she teased, shooting him a sly smile. Don had always been a reader, but it seemed like that part of his life was fully enforced now that he wasn’t working anymore. “I noticed that you have a big-ass bookcase out in your living room.” She sighed, thinking of her own book collection at home. “I don’t have much time read anymore; work has me too busy. I sure as hell miss it though. Reading gives me such life.”

“Then make time to do it. You need time for yourself, too, Peggy. Don’t sell yourself short,” he said, walking over to his nightstand to adjust the drawer on the front.

“Thanks,” was all she could manage to say, shocked that the workaholic himself had just told her to make time for herself.

“Ok, this next room is the bedroom my sons stay in whenever they get out here to visit,” Don said, swiftly said, not dwelling on what he had just said to her. He slipped out if his bedroom and past Peggy, moving quickly down the hall. Peggy turned and shut the door behind her before following him across the hall.

Since Bobby was almost five years older than Gene, the room had a unique look to it. The walls were painted a cool light blue, and half of them were covered in flimsy posters featuring action heroes and movie scenes while the other half featured pictures colored by the youngest Draper child. A small desk sat beside the bunk beds in the room, and there was an open toy chest sitting next to the desk.

“Ow. Damnit,” Don said under his breath as he stepped further into the room, glaring down below. He removed his foot from the object of offence, bending down to pick it up. “Stupid fucking Legos. They end up all over the fucking place and a person doesn’t even notice them until it’s too late,” he said, rolling his eyes as he flung the square blue block back in the toy bin.  

Peggy felt a pang of longing in her chest, and she knew it came from being in this room. The room was a window into her past; a past that she didn’t even _know_ because she had given him up for adoption. Don was still turned towards the toy chest and away from her, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to get a grip. It was _just_ a room. A room in an apartment that she would never be in again. 

“Nice artwork. Gene’s gonna make you famous, Don.” She felt proud for being able to say something about the room, despise the weird emotional attachment she had to it.

Don shyly smiled. “With his architecture maybe. Those Legos I hate so much belong to him. He’s quite the little builder.” He paused to stretch his arms over his head. “I suppose you don’t want to hear about my kids, though. Let me show you the remaining rooms.”

She wordlessly followed Don back out of the room, pausing to look at it one more time before closing the door with a soft _chunk_.

The bathroom, which was next to Don’s bedroom, was pretty standard as bathrooms go. There was a bathtub up against the wall that doubled as a shower, and there was a small window to the left of the mirrored medicine-cabinet. The bathroom was neatly put together; unlike any male-maitencined bathroom she had ever seen before. She had been living with Stan for two months, and although she pretty much had him trained by now to help keep their shared bathroom clean, it never looked this nice, even when she reminded him to get things picked up and put back where they belonged.

Leaving the bathroom, Don lead her to the opposite side of the apartment and took her down the other small hallway in the apartment. The beachy-sounding music that had greeted her was still playing in the background, and she wondered for a moment if Don had recorded it himself. She laughed under her breath at the thought, making a mental note to ask him that later.

“When Sally visits, the is her end of the apartment,” Don revealed, talking over his shoulder to look at Peggy while he walked. “She did all of the decorating herself. I was very proud of her.” There were only two rooms contained in the short hallway, and since the rooms were directly across the hall from each other, Don grabbed both doorknobs at the same time and wrenched them open.

Peggy looked into the left room first, and her breath caught in her throat as she peeked into the teen’s home away from home. “It’s a stunning room,” she said, carefully stepping inside it as if it were a fragile bubble that could pop at any time. “I wish I had had something like this at her age.” The room’s main color was lavender, but there were cool pops of magenta, lime green, cobalt blue, and silver in unexpected places. Fluffy accent pillows covered the tie-dye bedspread, the lampshades had beads at the bottom of them, and the young girl’s vanity was covered with trendy makeup and jewelry. “I love the paper lanterns. They really tie the room together,” she commented, looking upwards at the softly glowing lights above their heads.

“She made them herself, believe it or not. Took a class when she was out here about a month ago. She told me that the trick is to make the hole at the bottom larger than average in order to easily change the light bulb inside,” he explained, standing with his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He glanced up at the light fixtures above him, which were nearly at the top of his head. “She always manages to surprise me.” The comment was said almost under his breath, as if it had been a silent thought that had escaped from his head and traveled to his mouth.

He sighed and shook his head, but said nothing else, seeming to be reflecting. Peggy took this opportunity to silently slip around her former boss to exit the room. She wanted to glance in the girl’s bathroom before she left to check in at the hotel she had seen around the corner from this complex on her way in.

Sally’s bathroom was surprising sea-foam green color, and it contained flamingo pink, silver, and turquoise accents in the rugs, shower curtain, and toilet seat cover. The wall closest to the sliding-glass door shower was covered in a large mirror, and under the mirror was the sink and counter. It was minimalistic but very chic. She nodded her head in approval and exited the bathroom, nearly careening into Don as she did so.

The pair were now chest to chest in the tiny hallway, and she avoided eye contact with him for fear of the awkwardness that would surely follow. So instead of looking at him, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. “Cool bathroom. I like how colorful it is. She did some great work, painting both rooms and decorating and everything.” The comment felt awkward as soon as she had said it, and she inwardly cringed. She was normally better at using her words. She calculated it up to the fact that there was something in this salty, sea-scented California air that was making her act unlike herself.

“She did,” he simply said, nodding in agreement. She still wasn’t looking at him but could feel him slide past her in the tight space, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief as she followed him into the living room.

While Don fiddled with the record player in the corner, Peggy sat down on his tasteful suede couch. She ran her hand down the shimmery gold fabric, loving the soft, smooth texture it had. She had a chair in her office with fabric like this, except it was a deep sapphire blue color.

“Finally,” Don muttered as new music began to surround them. The music like the fabric on which she sat-smooth, soft, and classic; the perfect addition to any situation. “It was at the end of its life when I purchased it. I was able to find all of the pieces it needed and fixed it good as new,” he needlessly explained, wandering into the kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink? I’m a terrible host. I should have offered you refreshments sooner.”

Peggy weighed her options before she spoke. On one hand, she hadn’t really had anything on the plane and was legitimately thirsty. On the other hand, she was tired and kind of just wanted to check into the hotel she had seen around the corner on her way over. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take a drink,” she decided after a few seconds of music-filled silence between them. She nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen. “You got any Scotch?”

“Of course I do. Scotch on the rocks?”

“Always,” Peggy smiled, thinking back to all of the Scotch the office had once consumed. People still day-drank daily in the new offices, but it was less noticeable, almost as if it was becoming something people were slightly embarrassed to show that they partook in.

“So tell me, what’s going on in the life of Peggy Olson? I was serous when I called you-we haven’t talked in forever,” he said, coming back into the living room holding two blue-tinted glasses filled with amber-colored liquid. The ice softly clinked against the glasses as he carefully sat each one down on glossy, burnt-orange colored coasters that were sitting on the light grey coffee table in front of the lemon-yellow leather couch she was sitting on. He sat down next to her on the cushiony, worn-in sofa.

They were sitting close enough to have a decent conversation with each other, yet far enough away as to not physically touch each other. She didn’t know if he had done this intentionally or accidentally, but she _did_ think that it was an interesting choice, especially considering how often they had come in contact with the other in the past.  

“Well, we got Coca-Cola,” she started, picking up her glass to take a quick sip before setting it back down again. “It was a long process, and I kind of doubted that it was ever going to happen. But we did, though, and it was amazing. I’ve never felt more exhilarated to work at the agency then I did that day.”

Don looked amused as he responded. “I always knew that Coke would come around. They’re an influential, iconic brand, so it only makes sense that they were influenced by an equally as iconic ad agency. Who came up with the winning ad?”

“It was a combination of all of us on the team, really. Ted came up with the initial concept, which he brought to me, and I developed it from there. Of course, Stan did all of the artwork for the boards. We did some research for possible filming locations and found a little town called Manziana, located just outside of Rome in Italy. We almost didn’t get the footage because it was raining the first day we were there. The next day was much better in terms of the weather, and everything just sort of perfectly fell into place.”

She didn’t want to tell him all of the details about the commercial because he hadn’t been there for any of it, and she felt like he should have been. It was a commercial that would have been perfect for him; a once-in-a-life time opportunity to really place his mark on the world. Naturally, she would have helped and guided him through everything involving the commercial, even if she had other things on her plate to accomplish.

Regardless of how she felt and what the facts were, she knew it was selfish to keep the success story to herself. Besides that, she was dying to tell somebody outside of her usual circle about the full extent of the commercial; what it had _really_ taken to create a practically perfect, already iconic advertisement. Besides that, she knew that he would understand the various dilemmas that had arose as they were making it. He would understand her pride as she explained the final product and what it meant to her.

She told him about how they knew that that needed an iconic song to really execute this commercial, and how hard it was in the beginning to pick the right singer for the job. She went on to say how, a few weeks later, an executive at McCann named Bill Backer was at the Shannon Airport with fellow executives Roger Cook and Billy Davis. The trio had been on their way back to America after being in Ireland for a business trip.

She informed him that their initial flight had a layover, so all of these unhappy people that were supposed to be on the flight had to stay an extra night and that the next day, Backer noticed that those same people that had been pissed the night before were now laughing and chatting with each other, all while drinking Coca-Colas. She mentioned that Backer immediately became inspired by what he saw and wrote a single line down on a napkin, which he shared with British songwriters Roger Cook and Roger Greenaway and said that the two of them finished writing the lyrics and set the words to a song they had previously recorded.

“That song that the three of them had written together was the song that we ultimately choose for the commercial. It was absolutely perfect. The only thing we did to change it was have a bunch of teenagers and young adults come in and sing it, since we were casting people of that age for the filming of the ad. All of the singers we casted majorly pulled through. Their voices blended together into a great melody, and overall, we thought that their version of the song would be an instant hit for Coke,” she said, smiling while thinking back to the gleeful memory. She paused for a quick second to collect her thoughts before continuing to tell him about the process it had taken to make the commercial.

She thought back to the day the team had edited the song into the video footage into, telling him that remembered thinking that it was interesting, and that overall, it went smoothly. She told him that everybody involved had their parts down when they recorded the song, but how they were nervous about what it would look like once they had put their version of the song over the footage of the actors and actresses who were lip-synching to the lyrics. She made sure to mention that it turned out that were worried about nothing. The editors did an incredible job making sure that the end result looked professional and up to the agency’s standards.

“The entire process took a huge amount of time, effort and energy, but it was all worth it. I was really proud of our work. Heck, I _still_ am really proud of everything we did for it. It’s our masterpiece,” she admitted, taking a quick sip of her Scotch.

Don looked at her from where he sat on the couch, taking a sip of his Scotch. “When will it be on TV?” he asked, not setting his glass back down on a coaster, instead choosing to keep it in his hand.

“Even though it’s currently finished, Coke has decided that they want to air it in July. I wish they would have decided to air it sooner, though. I just want everybody to see it _now_ , you know?”

He simply nodded in agreement, looking as if he was thinking back to all of the times where one of the advertisements he had created had debuted on television.

 “I have never been more nervous to film a commercial than I had been that day,” she suddenly added, surprising herself. She had thought that she was done talking about Coke, but apparently not. “Coca-Cola was and still is the biggest client of my career so far. My pitch of the idea had clearly gone really well, but I didn’t want to mess up the semantics of the commercial in any way. I ended up worrying for nothing, though, because we got all of it in only two takes that second day. It was absolutely, incredible, Don.” She wistfully sighed, thinking back to that day. “I know advertising doesn’t last, but I think this one will, especially with all of the shit going on in the world right now.”  

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Don didn’t say anything in response to her statement. Instead, he looked at the floor and smiled to himself, attempting to hide the slight upward turn of his lips by raising his glass to them. He took a sip of his Scotch and let liquid sit in his mouth for a second before slowly swallowing the savory, amber colored drink. The sip helped him clarify what he wanted to say.

He took a deep breath and set his glass down on the coaster in front of him before speaking **.** “I’m glad that it worked out for you.” His tone was light and carefree. For the most part when he spoke, his tone was a true indication of how he _really_ felt. Unless his mind was elsewhere, it was rare for him to speak and not mean what he said based on tone alone.

He slowly looked up from the floor after speaking, his eyebrows seemingly raising with his whole head. His gaze was immediately met by Peggy, who was already looking at him. Maybe she had been looking at him all along. If that was that case, he felt satisfied about his decision to look down at the floor when he had.

Now, there was a look of appreciation on her face, which was undoubtedly caused by what he had just said. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” She smiled at him and took a sip of her drink, the ice cheerfully rattling against the side of the short, round blue-tinted glass as she tilted it towards her.

He gently smiled back at her in spite of himself and what he knew to be true. Lying had of course always come easy to him, but he knew from experience that all lies eventually caught up with him, whether he wanted them to or not. There was something about this particular lie though that made him antsy and impatient.

 He knew that he would eventually tell her the truth behind the creation of the ad, but his timing had to be exactly right. Then again, he _was_ Don Draper, after all. His timing in most matters was almost always on point.

 This case was no exception to that, even if him took a few days before he was ready to reveal the exact behind-the-scenes story that would ultimately change the history of the ad. He wasn’t anticipating the reveal to be pretty, but it _was_ necessary.

The guilt of her not knowing the facts about the most important advertisement of her career had been the key reason why he had picked up a phone and called her again after six long months. He wasn’t planning on telling her about it in a vain attempt to clear his conscience. The situation was way beyond that.

 He was going to do it simply because she needed to know. As a professional woman in the industry, she _deserved_ to know. Even if in the end, it broke her heart and made her disassociate with him forever.

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

The pair conversed for a bit longer about the ad, including who pitched the idea to Coca-Cola (Peggy had, despise her sexist co-worker Harry insisting that a man was better suited for a client of that level), how long the entire process had taken (only a little over a month and a half, between pitching ideas, all of the meetings that had taken place, and ultimately preparing the agreed-upon idea), and what the next idea they were thinking of doing for the soda brand. By the time they were done talking about Coke, it had gotten later than she had realized. Time always seemed to escape her when she was talking to Don.

          “Well, I suppose I should be going. I still gotta check into my hotel, and I want to do that before it gets dark. Thank you for the drink and the conversation,” Peggy said, stretching and standing up after glancing at her watch to confirm the time.

          “You don’t have to go,” Don responded, taking the finishing sip of his Scotch. “Why waste your hard-earned money on a hotel when you can stay here for free? If you want to that is,” he quickly added, looking slightly embarrassed.

          “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” She paused before continuing, making sure he wasn’t going to suddenly say, “Nope, sorry, I was only kidding you.” When he didn’t say that or anything at all, she went on. “Are you suggesting that I stay here…in this apartment…with _you_ for the duration of my stay?” She said the words slowly, as if they were still sinking into her head.

          “Yeah.” He nodded as slowly as she spoke. “But I’m not expecting us to sleep in the same room or anything. Sally’s part of this apartment would be all yours, and I wouldn’t bother you without knocking first. And you still don’t want to, that’s fine, and I would understand. Whatever you decide to do, I will respect that decision no matter what, and won’t bother you again with this if say no.”

          “Wow. Who are you and what have you done with Don Draper?” She asked in a quiet tone, laughing under her breath at the posed question. “I mean, that is just so generous of you. I’m honestly shocked. Are you sure you want to offer me this?”

          “Yes, I am. Peggy, after literally everything you’ve done for me, this is the one way I can repay you. I’ve been doing a bunch of reflecting in my time out here, and I came upon the realization that three fourths of the time, I was a complete and utter asshole to you. It’s not right, and I’m so sorry for everything I put you through.”

          “Believe it or not, Don, the times when you were shitty me are some of the best times in my life. No seriously!” She exclaimed as Don’s shoulders began to dramatically drop up and down as he loudly laughed a hysterical laugh. “Every time you underestimated me, I used it as motivation to power through and work my ass off, even for something I wasn’t sure I fully believed in. I think when I did work in spite of you, it was some of my best stuff. And I thank you for that.”

          She looked at Don, who was looking out the picture window just inches away. “You’re not shitting me?” He asked after a moment of silence between them.

          She laughed before responding, “No, I’m not shitting you. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean.” The light-heart expression that had been on her face only moments ago was gone and had been replaced with one of steel determination, as if having this expression would set her statements in stone.

          “Well, I suppose that’s not worst thing I’ve heard about me.” He sighed and turned back around to face her.

          “Yeah, people did always love a good Don Draper conversation. Shit-talking or otherwise,” she commented, easily recalling times when she had had Don’s name in her mouth. Her co-workers, clients, and even the random person on the street loved to talk about him, too. Wherever he went, the conversation followed. He had always been that type of man, she supposed. It wasn’t like a person could gain those kind of exemplary people skills overnight.

          Peggy could tell that Don was beginning to become slightly impatient with her because she hadn’t officially answered if she would be staying there for the week or not. As powerful as he had been in New York, she thought it was funny to see him squirm, so she milked the moment for a little while longer before giving him an answer. “So there are some things that you need to understand while I live here for the week.” She took the final sip of her drink and as she set the now-empty glass back down before quickly walking the short distance to the entryway to retrieve her suitcases. When she came back, Don’s attention was fully on her.

          “First and foremost, understand that I am not your chef, maid, or chauffeur. In other words, I do not work for you anymore, so don’t treat me like I do. I will do things to help you out, of course, but don’t expect special things to happen this week just because I’m here. Next, I respect your privacy, you respect mine. It’s as simple as that. Finally, you gotta show me the sights and sounds of Cali. I’ve never been here before, so I would appreciate your guidance.” She paused to think if there was anything else she wanted to add. “On that note,” she said after a second, “if there’s something I would like to do by myself for a day, I can manage one day out on my own. I know you don’t have a phone here in the apartment, but I’ll do my best to try and remember the way I came so I know how to get back. Alright, I think that’s all for now. Do you understand these things, Don?”

          “It all seems pretty clear-cut,” he simply responded, an impressed look on his face. “Are you hungry? I can go out and get a pizza from this place down the street while you settle in.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled deep from within, but Don payed no attention to the sound as he waited for her answer.

          “Sure, I could go for a slice. I like pretty much anything, so it’s up to you what to order on it.” She shrugged before thinking of something. “Hey, does Sally have clothes in her dresser and closet? Not that it matters much, I’ll survive if I have to grab items from my suitcases every day.”

          “If she does, it’s not much. She usually takes what she brings with her, expect if it’s a seasonal item or something she truly doesn’t care about. Anything else before I leave? I promise to come right back,” he low-key joked. It was funny how he knew exactly what she was thinking: The last time he had promised to “come right back” had been at that company meeting he had walked out on.

          “No, I think I’m ok. Thanks for thinking of this and allowing me to stay here.” She could feel the jet-lag beginning to set in, and she mustered the brightest smile she could.

          “Well, like I said, I owe you. What better way to show it than during the vacation you decided to take partially because of me?” He smiled kindly, and it was if time had froze between them. She had only seen his “kind smile” exactly four times in her life. The first time she had witnessed this genuine expression had been when his kids had visited the office, when they had still been Sterling-Cooper. The second time was when he had been newly married to now ex-wife Megan. The couple had been passing each other in the hallway, and it was an odd time; a time before things between than had become absolutely irreparable. The third time had been when Joan was upset because of her own divorce, even if her husband wasn’t even a good man. And the fourth time had just happened.

          It was strange in a way; to be the one at the end of the kind smile as opposed just being the one witnessing it. It wasn’t anything to get excited over, but his upwardly curved lips made her feel special anyway. It was one of those rare, unfiltered moments that happened to the well-put together man, and she only hope to see more of that side of him as the week progressed. 

          Though the smile was still there as he turned to leave, the moment was over once he had actually left the apartment. Now left to her own devices, Peggy snatched her purse and coat from where she had left them in the orange living room chair to take them with her. She effortlessly rolled her two suitcases down the hallway to where Sally’s room was located and placed them on the bed. She set her purse on the vanity and the coat on an empty hanger in the closet.

          She knew she should unzip her suitcases, if only to get out pajamas and other things she would need for the night as well as to pick out the next day’s outfit. But she couldn’t bring herself to accomplish the tasks, and it wasn’t even because of her jet-lag. As the official documentarian of her life, she had a duty to fulfill. She sat down at the vanity in the velvety-soft magenta, lime-green and orange paisley fabric-covered chair, which had a unique silver-frame, and pulled her journal out from the side-pocket of her purse. After finding the purple plastic logo-covered pen she had picked up from the floor of the plane, which she had hastily thrown in her bag at the last second, she opened the book and began to write.

          The entry wasn’t long, but it didn’t have to be. She would have plenty of time in the days to come to write long, detailed-filled entries. For now, she was just happy to be relaxing and settling into her home for the week.

After finishing writing what she wanted to say, she put the journal back in the pocket of her purse she was keeping it in, replacing it with the small package Stan had given her before she had left. The package was between the size of a department-store shoe box and the size of her journal. It was heavy, but not so much so that it made her entire bag heavy. She had no idea at all what it could possibly be; she hadn’t even allowed herself to guess what it was.

Stan was as elaborate as she was (he _was_ an artist, after all), so naturally, the wrapping paper he’d chosen matched both of their personalities. The wrapping paper had a black background and a blend of small neon-yellow smiley faces, purple fingers giving the peace sign, bright orange hearts, and hot pink daisies with lime green centers covering it. The symbols each had their own neat diagonal line. He’d tied the package with glittery rainbow curling ribbon, completing the look with a matching decorative bow.

She carefully removed the ribbon and bow, stashing them on the vanity. Later, she would place them in her cigar box because they were just too pretty to throw away. Instead of ripping the wrapping paper off of the box as most people did when receiving a gift, she slowly wedged her thumb under the edges of the paper so it would come off in one piece.

The gift was finally revealed, and she couldn’t help but gasp in shock when she realized what it was. He had gotten her a camera. Not just any camera, though. It was a polaroid camera; one of the very best models currently on the market.

After getting over her initial shock, she had to chuckle at the symbolism of the gift. Historically, Stan was the artist and photographer. She was a creative chief, of course, so she knew a _little_ about art and photography. She knew how to use art efficiently in advertising, and of course she had paintings and photographs hanging in her office and at their home. But her creating art was a totally different story. She understood that art had no rules or limitations, a concept that scared her and shouldn’t have, since she literally had a career in a field that basically had no rules or limitations.

She blamed her fear on the fact that she didn’t have any experience with creating art, in terms of sitting down to draw or paint or take photographs. Her form of art was writing copy; writing tag-lines, for that matter. Art in its typical form accented and brought her words to life, and she was grateful for that. It had just never occurred to her that she too could create art in its so-called typical form.

  She gently opened the thin cardboard box the camera was encased in, surprised at its actual size when she took it out of the box. The camera was smaller than she had expected it to be, and had a thin, removable black leather strap on it, she supposed in order to make transporting it easier. She opened the back and easily put in the film that had come with it, carefully checking to make sure that everything was in place so that it would function properly when she wanted to use it.

She was excited about the possibilities that came with this gift. It would be interesting for her to dive into the world of photography without any prior experience taking photographs. 

She immediately knew that she wanted to keep the camera with her at all times, at least while she was on this vacation and could maybe get some ultra-cool photographs out of it. She wrapped the strap around the body of the camera and placed it deep inside her purse; in a protected pocket that zipped closed.

She was about to put the box the camera had come in away in the closet for safe keeping when she noticed a small piece of paper attached to the box’s lid. She immediately recognized Stan’s handwriting and the signature dark green ink he liked used when he wrote notes. She slid her nail under the tape that was keeping it on the lid, folding the piece of tape over the top of the paper before reading what it said.

_Thursday 5/6/71_

_I thought you might find this to be useful when documenting your trip. It ain’t much but I think you’ll like it. I know how it can be scary at first to try something new, but I also know how you make the best out of any situation you find yourself in._

_Love,_

_Stan_

          She smiled when she finished reading the short note, folding it in half to put in her journal. When they first met, Stan hadn’t always been the most encouraging person in her world, but now she couldn’t imagine him being anything but supportive. She loved that he had gotten her the camera as a gift because it went to show that he really did believe that she could do anything she put her mind too, even things she hadn’t expressed out loud.

          Stan knew her well, but Don did, too. The men didn’t have much in common, aside from both living for the job, but even _that_ wasn’t the case anymore since Don had been living out here for six months, clearly not working on anything regarding advertising.

          She felt at peace with having the two most important people in her life know what they knew about her. She didn’t like hiding things, especially things that she knew would eventually become known. She leaned back in the velvet chair, crossing her arms and putting her feet up on the white table, being careful not to touch the mirror with her shoes. She crossed her feet at the ankles at just sat there, relaxing and thinking about the life she’d built so far.

She had to admit, it was a good one; full of ups and downs, as any life would be. She wouldn’t change anything, even some of her most regrettable mistakes. They were a part of who she was, as much as her triumphs and good days were a part of who she was.

She chuckled to herself, thinking about her plans and how they had changed with in the blink of an eye. It had never her intention to be here in his apartment for more than a few hours. Life had a funny way of changing things up, though, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst.

For one short week, she hoped that things fell more on the better side of life than on the worst. She would make it her goal to have positive things happen to both of them, no matter what they did, talked about, or went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was honestly one of my favorite chapters to write. I loved imagining where Don would live in California, and I enjoyed picturing him having his children out there. I hope y'all enjoyed reading my descriptions as much as I enjoyed writing them (:
> 
> And as always, leave a comment to be heard :)


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don and Peggy officially start their California adventure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief bit of dialogue from the finale is included :-)

Salton City, California  
Saturday, May 8th 

Don woke up early the next morning, right at 6:30. He never set an alarm anymore, but then again, he didn’t need to, either. Regardless, he always seemed to wake up early; most days before ten. He assumed it was because he had started working at the tender age of five and hadn’t stopped until six months ago. His biological clock was already set, and at 44 years of age, it wasn’t changing anytime soon. 

He got out of bed and stretched, scratching the back of his head before he brought his arm back down. He was a man of routine, and even though he had a guest that wasn’t his children staying with him, he vowed to stay in that routine as much as possible. That meant taking a quick shower before getting dressed in a fitted, sky-blue t-shirt with an almost invisible pocket on the front; tan dress shorts; and preppy, navy-blue boat shoes. After fixing his still-wet hair into a manageable style, he walked into his kitchen where he fried two eggs and three strips of bacon. He toasted two pieces of bread and washed it all down with a deep, dark cup of his favorite morning brew. 

He always ate at the table by the picture window to watch the sun rise over California, and every morning after he was done eating, he took time to catch up on the news by reading his daily newspaper. 

When he was finished reading all six sections of the paper, he checked the ocean-blue clock in the living room. It was exactly 7:10. By now, he’d be moving onto the day’s errands, but today, he wanted to wait for Peggy. Mostly because it was her first official day in the Golden State, but also because he had something he wanted to do with her. 

“You’re up already? Wow. And here I thought this was going to be an uncomfortable situation for me,” Peggy announced as she came into the kitchen.  
Wearing a black t-shirt with white polka-dots, faded denim shorts, and black Converse high-tops, she looked Cali cool and New York sophisticated all at once.

“Why would it be uncomfortable? You’re smart enough to find food if you’re hungry,” Don replied, tossing the newspaper from his lap to the table. 

“Thank you, but that’s not the point. The point is that I wouldn’t feel right about it. Admittedly, I have snooped through your things in the past, but that was when I still worked for you and needed things when you weren’t around to get them for me. But this is your house; there’s no way I would go through cupboards without your permission first.”

“Ok.” Don raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, a look of agreement on his face. He got up from the table and wandered over to the stove, where the pan from his fried eggs and bacon still sat. “What do you want?”

“Lucky Charms. If you have them.” She added the last part quickly, as if embarrassed about her answer. 

Don smirked, turning away from her to walk to the cupboard where he kept dried goods. “I do. It’s because of my kids. I’m not sure how old this box is, but you’re more than welcome to take what you want from it. It’s not like they’ll be visiting anytime soon.” He set the box on the counter and opened the cupboard next to the one he had just been in to pull out a bowl and cup. “See?” he added, returning with the items. “Now you know where I keep my items. Anything you want that’s behind these miniature doors, you can have.” As soon as he said it, the fact came back to hit him like a ton of bricks. Peggy staying here with him for the week was suddenly becoming a real-fact; a fact that he should already be used to, having been the one to invite her to stay here. It wasn’t a bad fact-it was just a general fact that was slowly sinking in. 

Without responding, Peggy poured herself a bowl of the sugary cereal and confidently walked to the refrigerator in search of milk. On her way to the table, she paused to pour herself a cup of piping hot cup of coffee, filling the cup to the brim. “You got any big plans for today?” she asked as she sat down and began eating, her attention moving from the gorgeous view out the window to Don, who was casually leaning on the countertop, his half-full cup of coffee in his hand.  
“Just one. I was hoping you could help me with it,” he responded, seamlessly reaching behind where he was leaning to open a drawer on the other side of the counter. His hand immediately connected with what he was looking for, and he took them out to show her.

“I want to repaint my motorcycle today, before we forget for the rest of the week. These are the colors I’m thinking of, but I want your help deciding for sure. I meant to get these out last night, but time got away from us.” He slid the paint samples over to her, knowing he was making the right choice to let her help with this decision. He trusted her judgement well-enough and knew that whatever she picked would be the right choice. 

“Hmmm…” she said out loud, carefully studying each one as if they were notes for an Advanced Calculus test. She began shoving samples aside after a minute of looking at them, doing so until only two remained in front of her. The color on the left was a deep maroon red that was shiny and had some shimmer to it when the light hit it in the right way. The color on the right was the complete opposite. It was a pretty, innocent looking light blue that was more matte than shiny.  
Don didn’t say anything about her choices, liking the direction this was heading. He could easily picture either color on the bike and was already imagining it out on the road with its new look. 

“For a classic look, I like this maroon. You could add some simple black and gold details after the main bodywork is done, and viola, you’d have a ‘60s motorcycle that looks like a ‘50s motorcycle. But if you want to be modern, this blue is the way to go. I know it’s not as shiny as the maroon, but you can easily fix that by adding glossy white and silver accents to the bike. I don’t know. In the end, it’s up to you.” She raised the samples up to Don, who accepted them to study them for the final time. 

He silently looked at the two remaining samples, turning his back to her as he made his decision. He wanted to surprise her with his final choice, even though she had been the one to narrow it down to these two polar-opposite colors in the first place. 

He came to a decision about the color at the same time that Peggy got up from the table to clear her place. As he slipped the sample in his pocket, he announced, “Ok, I’ve made my decision. Are you read you ready to go?” 

“Yeah. But let me go grab my purse first,” she replied, quickly heading back down the hallway to Sally’s room to get it. She didn’t take long at all to retrieve it, and when she returned, she had a pair of bright pink-framed Wayfarer sunglasses covering her eyes. 

Don looked at her and let himself smile for half a second, loving how she always managed to bring some color into the world.

Together, they left the apartment complex and began walking down the street. Don lived in a small neighborhood. It was a place filled with other small apartment complexes; specialty and generic stores; beginner businesses; and restaurants that already had amazing smells coming out of them. 

“Where are we going?” Peggy questioned after they had walked past a locally-owned finical management firm, a low-grade Italian restaurant, and a trendy beauty shop that proudly had the words Just opened! written in paint across the shop’s window in large, handwritten blue letters. 

“To that hardware store,” he answered, gesturing up ahead at a building just a few feet away. “They have all of the best paints available at a reasonable cost. The owner mixes it all himself, but it never takes long. He is an expert in his field.” He began to slow down his pace as they grew closer to the shop, watching her on his left side. Just by looking at her, he knew that she was about to ask a question. She had always the inquisitive type, after all. 

She nodded at his statement, not looking at him but at the various buildings around her as if she were attempting to memorize them for later. “So what color did you end up choosing?” she asked, tilting her head up at Don. 

“It’s a surprise,” he admitted. “But I’ll think you’ll like it. Anything has to be better than that retched olive-gold shade you hate so much, right?”

“It’s puke-green and you know it,” she smiled as she teased him. Shortly after her comment, they arrived at the hardware shop. “What am I supposed to do since you don’t want me to see this mysterious color yet? I’m not just going to stand around waiting for you,” she sassily stated, crossing her arms in front of her chest right as he had put his hand on the shiny gold doorknob. 

“There’s a little convenience store right next door. Go inside and pick out some refreshments for later. It’s gonna be a real scorcher today, and I don’t want us to lose momentum before we’re finished.”

“You want anything special?” she asked, already turning to leave. 

“A can of Pringles would be nice. And if they have those single-serve ice-cream cartons, make sure to get pistachio for me. Anything else you see that you want, you can get. I have my favorites, but I’m not too picky when it comes to junk food.” 

“Good to know,” she acknowledged before disappearing around the corner to go to the store. Don waited to go inside to the hardware store until he heard the small, silver bell attached to the convenience store’s door cheerfully ring as she entered it. 

Satisfied that she was where he wanted her, he opened the door and entered the hardware store. ’Mornin’, Ralph,” he said to the old man behind the counter. The store, officially called Ralph’s Hardware, was small but mighty. There wasn’t very much room in between the ten aisles, and that was partially because of the way was store laid out and partially because Ralph had the shelves over-stocked. Don didn’t mind these things, though. He liked Ralph’s preemptive thinking by having nearly everything a person would need for any size project. It reminded him of his days in New York, back when he had been an ad man. The offices of Sterling Cooper and Partners always had a good variety of tools and equipment for any project a client threw at them. 

“Hello, Don,” Ralph responded, not looking up from the small project in front of him. He had a small, oval piece of metal under a table light and was picking something out of it with a pair of tweezers. “What can I do for you on this fine morning?” 

“I need a can of paint,” Don said, sliding the color he and Peggy had chosen out of his pocket. He slid it across the counter closer to Ralph, who paused from working on the piece of metal to snatch the paint sample off of the counter. He tapped his fingers on his chin with his left hand and held the sample up to the natural light that was streaming in from the windows behind them. 

“I like this,” he said after a beat, still holding the sample in his hand. He nodded in approval and lowering the sample back down to regular eye-level. He wandered over towards the paint center, which was just off to the side of the front counter; catty-cornered from the cash-register. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“Re-paint my Ducati,” he simply said, not elaborating on anything. He liked talking to Ralph because Ralph stuck to what was important and didn’t ask questions he didn’t have to. It was the simplicity of their conversations he most admired, even if every now and then he craved a long, “bear-it-all” conversation.  
While Ralph got to work mixing the paint, Don looked around the store, even though he already had it committed to memory due to being in it at least once a week. The size of the hardware store often reminded Don of a small garage, except slightly longer and with a backdoor. The walls were painted a depressing light grey color; a grey that reminded him of a rainy day in New York. The paint was beginning to chip around the edges of corners and at the window frames, which were done up in plain white. The only slices of color in the store came from the products Ralph was selling on his shelves; his heavy-looking, dark blue metal cash-register; and the brick-red front and back doors. 

Ralph had a single black and white horizontal photograph hanging up in a simple wooden frame on a wall behind the counter, almost next to his paint machine. Don had seen the blurry photo many times, and it had always fascinated him. In it, three boys about the same age were shirtless, and they were standing in a bean-field with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Each of them had the biggest grin plastered on their mud-ridden faces, and none of their pants were where they should have been, despite all of them wearing suspenders on their bare shoulders. He could only assume who the boys were, knowing that one of them had to be Ralph, but it wasn’t his business to pry into Ralph’s personal life, especially if Ralph wasn’t the one to initiate that conversation.

Ralph’s paint machine stopped whirring, and a few seconds later, he had brought the can over to the counter, tin-lid off so Don could approve of the color. “You’ve done it again, Ralph,” Don said, using the smile he reserved for business associates. “It looks great. Nice work.” He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and opened it as Ralph put the lid on the paint.

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Draper. You come in here all the time. I’ll let you have this one for free,” Ralph commented when he saw Don fishing out some cash to pay for his can of paint. 

Don looked at the man and raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he slowly shoved the money back in place before placing his wallet back in his pocket. “Thank you,” he simply said, taking the sample off of the lid and placing it behind his wallet in his pocket. 

Ralph briefly smiled. “Don’t mention it,” he replied, wiping his hands on his cover-alls before bending over the metal oval once again. “Go easy on the alcohol,” he said as Don turned to exit the store. Don silently nodded at Ralph’s comment, thinking about the time when he had gotten drunk and then decided to paint his kitchen. He had just finished painting his living room, and the kitchen was next on the list. Everything that had needed to be covered had been covered, but in his drunken superior, he had still somehow managed to get melon orange paint on his countertops, cupboards, and even in the sink. When he had come to the hardware store to buy items to clean up the mess he’d made, he had told Ralph what had happened. The incident had been an inside joke between them ever since that day.

Outside, the sun now fully up even though it was still plenty early. As Don stood back a few feet on the sidewalk to squint up at the pop-out sign on the hardware store, he was annoyed with himself that he had forgotten his sunglasses. 

“What are you looking at?” a voice asked him. He looked away from the sign and down in the direction of the voice. Peggy, whose arms were full of plastic grocery bags filled with treats from the convenience store, looked up at the sign, trying to see what Don saw. 

“Just the sign,” he replied. “I was thinking about the history this little town has. Ralph’s Hardware has been here since 1923, and everything else in this neighborhood is around the same age.”

“They’ve done a good job of keeping it updated, as far as I can tell.” The plastic bags crisply crinkled in her arms as she shifted the goodies around.  
The pair stood next to each other, unspeaking but observing their surroundings as well as each other. Don looked over at Peggy, who happened to be looking back at him. He glanced at the filled plastic bags in her arms, and it was then that he noticed the obscene amount of snacks she had just purchased. “I didn’t think that you would buy the whole store,” he commented, starting to walk back in the direction they had come from. 

“Well, I needed to make sure there was a good variety of snacks and beverages for this occasion. And before you ask, yes, I got you your Pringles and pistachio ice-cream.” 

“What else did you buy?”

Peggy listed the items off as they walked down the street together, surprising Don at just how much she had truly bought. When she was finished telling him what she all got, a comfortable silence fell between them. They still had a lot to say to each other about everything, but for now, they were each happy with where things were at in this moment of time.

The pair seamlessly crossed the street, and once they were over on the other side, it was then that Peggy spoke again. “Now where to, Don? Your apartment is in the other direction…unless we’re going around the block and I just didn’t think of that until after I already spoke out loud.”  
Don chuckled at her comment and looked over at her, just in time to see he roll her eyes at herself. “It’s kind of around the block, but not exactly. There’s an old, no longer in use automotive workshop that everyone in this town goes to when they have a project like this to do. Everyone knows about it, but they respect the hell out of it.”

“So what’s your plan here?”

“You and that planning, Peggy, I swear.” His tone was light and teasing because he knew how much of that was in her; would always be in her, even when she was on vacation. 

As if reading his mind, she almost instantly replied, “It just comes naturally, I guess. I never mean to mention it out loud, but then I do and it ruins everything.”  
“Nothing here is ruined. I don’t know what gave you that perception, but that’s not the case here.”

“I know. Thanks for that. In all honesty, though, that’s really how things seem to go in my life. I over think or plan too much, and then it all goes to shit anyway, so what’s the point?” she laughed at herself before continuing “There have been times where it’s worked out for the best, though, so really, it’s not all bad.”  
“See? There you go-it’s not all bad. Use that. Think of that when you feel insecure about your constant need to plan.” 

Peggy, who had been looking down at the sidewalk looked up at Don after he finished speaking. She gratefully smiled at him, her face saying everything her words didn’t. Don returned the expression, only looking away because he saw the ‘50s era workshop in his peripheral vision. “Look, we’re almost here,” he confidently said, puffing his chest out ever so slightly and walking a bit faster than usual. 

Peggy began to speed walk too, even with the snacks snugly in her arms. She could always keep up with Don, in every sense of the term.  
Don arrived at the workshop first, Peggy hot on his heels. He flipped on the lights and walked over to the large garage door, pulling it up with ease. He stood there with his fingers interlaced behind his head, looking out onto the street. Behind him, he could hear Peggy setting down the bags of junk food, the plastic the bags were made of crinkling as she sorted through all of the snacks she had purchased. 

Don deeply breathed in the fresh air now entering the workshop before dropping his hands, turning around and walking over to where she stood by the small paint-stained counter-top.

“This place is rather impressive. I wouldn’t have expected any of this based on the outside of the building,” she commented, glancing around the building.  
Behind the small counter where Peggy stood, there was a longer counter with a peg-board wall of tools up behind it. Tools scattered this counter along with half a dozen nails, screws, washers, drill bits and other small home repair items that had the potential to become dangerous in a moment’s notice. There was open storage space below the counters, and the majority of the workshops power-tools sat there undisturbed.

To the right of both counters was an older style refrigerator, one that didn’t have attached freezer. The freezer unit was separate and sat directly next to the old-school refrigerator on the right side. Next to the freezer was a window streaming in the bright morning light. It took up half of the back wall and had interesting homemade curtains that looked to be crocheted out of shiny magenta, neon lime, bright orange, and black yarn in a zigzag pattern. Below the window and on each side of it were cupboards that held various supplies including snacks, paint masks, clear hardware glasses, various mismatched mugs, a broom and dustpan set, and more surprising items that could be useful depending on the occasion.

Wedged in the corner between the cupboards and the east wall was a small closet. The closet had a glossy white, freshly-painted door, hiding its contents from plain sight. Inside the closet, there were painting clothes, from coveralls to old t-shirts. There were even clean socks and used steel-toed work boots for people who were working on a heavy-duty project. 

The east wall of the workshop had several different shelves pushed up against it. There were some made out of plastic and some made out of metal. Some of the shelves were short and some were tall. It was as if this were a museum and all the lost shelves of California had somehow ended up here, in this workshop two hours outside of Los Angeles. The materials on the shelves were just as random as the shelves themselves, and the organization of them varied; some by entire shelf, others row by row.

Don recalled the first time he had been here, which was almost as long as the last time he had seen Peggy in person. The way she was looking at the workshop was the was the way he had first looked at it. He had been shocked that this was a place that the community could use, completely free of charge. He had been even more surprised to find out how well-stocked the workshop was and vowed to add his own contributions to it, even if he only used it every once in a while.  
“Appearances are deceiving. Exhibit A,” he replied after snapping out of his memory. He gestured at himself as if he were a cheesy game show host while looking at Peggy to gauge her reaction. 

She looked at him, nodding while scrunching up her mouth and eyes in agreement. “That’s very true,” she said, going back to removing the rest of the snacks from the bags. 

Don was lost in thought for a second, briefly thinking back to all of the tough-looking business suits he had always worn when he had worked in Manhattan. He had always managed to look crisp, fresh, and neat, even when the most dire of things were happening in his life. He sighed and brought himself back to the present where he said, “I’m going to go get my motorcycle.”

“Ok,” she responded, putting some sodas in the vintage refrigerator that sat in the corner. Don nodded once, as if to confirm the word before exiting the workshop. 

The walk back to his apartment didn’t take that long, but then again, he was half-running in order to make it back as fast as he could. The motorcycle roared to life as it usually did, and he returned to the workshop in almost no time at all. He pulled the ‘cycle just outside of the workshop because he still had to put down the drop cloths so that paint wouldn’t end up all over the slick cement floor. 

When he walked into the workshop, he was surprised to hear the crinkling of thick plastic beneath his feet. He looked down and his suspicion was confirmed. Peggy had found the box of drop cloths and prepared it for him while he was away. He always knew that she was resourceful, but this was taking it to a whole new level. He looked around the workspace, but she didn’t seem to be anywhere obvious. “Where’d you go?” he asked, knowing that she wouldn’t just leave without first giving notice. 

“I’m in here!” she hollered, suddenly coming out of the small closet that was in the workshop. “I was being trying to be helpful by laying these drop cloths down and figured that there would be something in this place to cover up street clothes. After a brief search, I found this closet with these coveralls inside,” she explained, doing a little twirl in her new look. 

Don nodded in approval at the outfit, laughing because for once in her life, she had been nosy, and it had paid off. 

Peggy began laughing too before gesturing to the closet and saying, “Go! Get in there and find a pair of coveralls to put on so we can get started!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Don responded, warmly smiling at her. He liked it when she showed off the boss-side of her personality, even when she wasn’t at work. It proved how confident she felt, and furthermore, how powerful she had become. 

After finding his size in the coveralls that remained in the closet, he easily slipped them on over his t-shirt and shorts. He didn’t bother to shut the closet door as he put them on because he wasn’t taking any article of original clothing off. When he was finished putting the jumpsuit on, he swiftly walked back outside to roll his motorcycle into the workshop. 

He idly engaged in small-talk with Peggy as he got out all of the paint supplies they would need, the majority of their conversation being about things they had read in the newspaper that morning. As he was getting ready to open the can of paint Ralph had just mixed up, Peggy nudged his shoulder with the back of her hand. When he turned to look, he saw a mask and safety glasses dangling from the hand that hadn’t nudged him. “Before you forget,” she said as he had looked at her questionably, her voice muffled because she was already wearing her own mask and glasses set.

Don accepted the items and quickly put them on before opening his can of paint. He could feel her leaning over his shoulder in order to finally find out which color he had picked out of the two choices she had narrowed it down to. “Nice choice,” she said when she saw the matte, light blue paint in the clear bottle he had poured it into. 

He looked at her saw that her eyes were crinkled in the corners the way they did when she smiled. He returned her smile, even though neither of them could obviously see the other’s mouth. 

He was grateful that she was here. Not just here in this workshop to help him paint his new mode of transportation, but in a general sense, here in California. She didn’t have to come all the way out west just to see him. She didn’t have to agree to help him out with painting, and she certainly didn’t have to agree to staying in his apartment for the week. She didn’t have to do any of it, and that was the beauty of the relationship they had built: it was all based on a series of seamless choices. Choices that for better or worse, had brought them to this moment in time today. 

Regardless of this fact, the bottom line was that she didn’t have to come; she didn’t have to agree to do any of this with and for him…and yet she had. Furthermore, she was still here, helping him with the unique task of painting his 1970 olive-gold Ducati, and he knew that at this point, she wasn’t thinking of leaving him.

He screwed the lid back on the container he’d just put the paint into before redoing his actions on a similar container so that they would each have something to paint with. The lids of both containers had spray-bottle tops to make the application of paint on a vehicle easy. As he was finishing pouring paint into the second container, Peggy took it upon herself to turn on the portable, early ‘60s-era radio that was setting on top of the long counter next to a hand-made wooden toolbox. In an instant, loud, twangy country music filled the space. The music was embarrassingly loud, and after adjusting the volume, she used the scroll bar on the side of the machine to find a different station. Music from all kinds of stations all blended together as she searched, a station only coming in clear when she paused to tell if she liked it or not before going back to searching. 

She finally selected a station that was playing rock and roll, which was obvious from the DJ’s loud voice announcing that the station was in the midst of a commercial-free, all-music hour featuring more of the rock people need in their lives. 

Don finished pouring the paint into the containers after making sure that each had an adequate amount before resealing the clean, unstained can he had just gotten. Peggy wandered back over to where their work area was, quietly singing along to the chorus of “Carry on Wayward Son” behind her mask. She grabbed a can of paint, and they silently began to work, the only sounds being the hiss of the large spray cans they were using and the rock music that was clearly playing in the background. 

Neither one of them really had a clue as to what exactly they were supposed to be doing, but they each worked diligently at it anyway. Between the two of them both working on a side, painting the body of the machine didn’t take long at all. They effortlessly went from painting the body to working on the smaller parts of the vehicle, unscrewing the lids of their spray-bottles and grabbing thin-bristled paint brushes to make sure that no part of the olive-gold color was left behind.  
When they were done with the first coat, they stepped back to admire the work they’d done so far. Don lowered his mask from his face to around his neck now that they weren’t right up in the area where the smell of the paint was the strongest. He crossed his arms and looked closely at the motorcycle, so far liking the way it was turning out. 

“It looks good, for being a first coat and all,” Peggy commented. Had she been taller, she would be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Don, but as it was, she was almost a full foot shorter than him, so they were really standing shoulder-to-bicep. Her posture was almost exactly the same as his-the only difference was that she had made a fist with her left hand and placed it under her chin as she studied the bike. “I guess I forgot how well we work together, even if we sometimes have our differences.”

“We’re the best of the best,” he said, half-kidding, half serious. He pushed his safety glasses up into his inky, well-kept hair and walked past the motorcycle and over to the refrigerator to find something to drink. His stomach seized when he saw the six-pack of Coca-Cola she had purchased. It was yet another reminder of what he had to do towards the end of her trip. He firmly shook his head, as if to clear the thought from his mind before selecting two identical glass bottles and shutting the refrigerator back up.

Peggy was waiting by the open garage door, the snacks she wanted to eat already in her hands. He quickly picked what he wanted and joined her, saying, “Let’s go sit outside for a minute.” 

Peggy nodded at him and smirked before confidently leading the way to the east side outside of the workshop where a single, bright-yellow picnic table sat under a tall oak tree. The sun was currently in a position to provide the perfect amount of shade on the table, and when they sat down, the sleek, painted wood was cool to the touch. 

They sat down across from each other and began opening their snacks. Don pulled out his keys, which had a bottle opener key-chain on them and swiftly popped the bottle caps off both Cokes before handing one to Peggy. 

“Thanks,” she said, smiling as she took a sip of the icy-cold beverage. She held the bottle in her hand for a second to look at the label and Don could tell that the irony of her drinking a beverage she had helped create an ad for was not lost on her. She cleared her throat, set the bottle down on the table and reached for a package of Twinkies before speaking again. “Yesterday, when we were talking in your living room, I forgot to mention that Stan and I are dating now.”  
Don crunched on a Pringle, licking the leftover salt from his lips before responding. “That doesn’t surprise me. You two always had great chemistry together. How did it come to be?”

She told him that six months ago, after he had called for what she thought was the final time, she called Stan from her office to his to discuss the strange conversation she had just had with Don. While they were talking, Stan had gotten slightly off course and had confessed his true feelings for her. She admitted that at first, she was off-put by his seemingly sudden confession and had tried to play off that she didn’t feel the same about him until just a few short moments later when she realized that she actually did feel the same for him that he felt for her. 

From that moment on, even though they were co-workers, they decided to be together in a relationship. In March, they had decided to move in together, since they were each spending an obscene amount of time traveling from one person’s apartment to the other person’s apartment with stops for work in-between.  
“I’ve never been happier in a romantic relationship, Don. I think he’s the one. I can feel it in my bones. We’re not planning on getting married anytime soon and that’s ok. We’re content with where we are right now.” 

Peggy was bubbling over with happiness talking about her new relationship, and it made Don excited, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a while. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was excited, aside from the fact that she was doing exactly what she wanted with her life, professionally as well as personally. 

“I sincerely hope that it works out for you two,” he commented, taking a swig of his Coke. “So many relationships in that office fall to pieces, but I think you two have what it takes to make it through all of the bull-shit.”

“Hell yeah, we do,” Peggy confidently said while nodding, a proud expression on her face. She raised her Coke bottle high.

Don followed her lead, raising his own bottle. “A toast. To you and Stan. May you last longer than the latest trendy ad you guys make together.”  
“To me and Stan!” she gleefully repeated, clinking her bottle against his. 

They drank in unison, looking at each other with pure satisfaction. “What else have I missed out on?” he asked when they sat their sodas back down on the yellow-painted wood. 

“Well, if you would have just come home like I asked you to six freakin’ months ago, you would already know,” she sassily replied, snapping a Twizzler in half with her teeth. 

Don scoffed and rolled his eyes, a half-smile on his face anyway because he knew it was true. “C’mon. I know you want to tell me,” he said as convincingly as he could, using the persuasive voice he usually reserved for his children and especially picky clients. 

She sat back away from the table for a second with her arms crossed in front of her, looking off into the distance behind him. She sighed and turned her head slightly sideways before saying, “You’re right, I do.” Her voice admitted defeat, something he knew well after spending ten years working with her. 

He sat back and listened, enjoying his snacks as she told him what the people in his old life were doing now. He learned that Joan had been fired for standing up for herself, and that with the help of Kenny Cosgrove, another old co-worker, she had started her own production company. At the urging of Duck Phillips, Pete Campbell had taken a high-profile job at Lear Jet, which had required him to relocated to Wichita, Kanas, ensuring that he was leaving the advertising industry for good. Roger had taken two weeks off to be in Paris with Marie Calvet, his ex-wife Megan’s mother. Meredith, his most recent secretary at the time, had been fired once it was understood that Don wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Shortly afterwards, she had found success as an interior decorator and was now designing apartments all over New York City. 

“It seems as though everyone has found their version of happiness and success,” Peggy concluded, twisting the top off of an Oreo cookie to access the frosting inside. She licked all of the frosting off in one clean sweep before adding, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. McCann didn’t have an office ready for me day it was time to head over.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“There was a bullshit mix-up or somethin’ like that, and I refused to go over until they were ready for me. They thought I was a secretary, Don. It’s like they literally forgot my role, even though there’s plenty of other female copy writers like me in that building. To them, it didn’t even matter that I’m a copy-chief. I was pissed.”

“So what did you do?”

“I worked out of my old office in the abandoned SC&P agency and from home until I got a call from my sectary telling me that they were ready for me. But for some reason, be it nostalgic or just feeling underappreciated, I didn’t go on the day they had it ready. I was just being stubborn and besides that, I still had a few things in my old office to gather up. I thought I was alone on that sad, empty floor of one of the most iconic sky-scrapers in the city, but I wasn’t. Roger was still there, too, and he was playing the organ left behind when we had been doing casting for a children’s toy commercial.”

Don couldn’t help but laugh. “Roger playing the organ. I bet that was quite the scene.”

“It was!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “It was already plenty creepy, especially because the lights had been shut off.” She shook her head and began laughing. “Up until that point, he had been being completely silent. Anyway, I found him, and we had a nice conversation about booze, which he made me go buy, of course. We drank, he gave me an 18th century octopus painting that had been Burt Cooper’s, he played the organ, we drank some more, and I somehow ended up on roller-skates, despite my level of intoxication. I never made it into McCann that day, but a good time was had by all. And by all, I mean, me and Roger.” 

“Wow. That relationship took an interesting turn,” Don said, surprised but pleased that her relationship with Roger had come full-circle. 

“Yep,” was all Peggy had to say in response. The pair was quiet for a moment, Don thinking of what he wanted to ask next. But couldn’t think of anything else-all of the stuff he had wanted to find out about had been covered. 

“That’s everything recent. Mostly recent, anyway. All of the major stuff,” she confirmed, taking a final sip of her Coke. She deeply sighed, as if telling him everything that had happened in his absence had taken the wind out of her. 

“I guess it’s my turn to talk, then. I don’t nearly have as many points to cover as you, but the ones I do are important ones. For example, Betty is dying from lung cancer.”

“What?! Are you serious? Betty, as in Betty Draper, now Betty Francis, your first ex-wife? That Betty?” Peggy looked at Don with a look of pure shock.  
Don slowly nodded, a sad expression in his face. He had made peace with this fact months ago, when he’d had one final telephone call with her confirming her illness, but for some reason, he could still feel his eyes getting watery.

“Damn.” She paused, as if carefully considering the next words out of her mouth. “How long does she have?”

“She was diagnosed in late October of 1970, and is refusing to get any kind of treatment, so they told her six months or less. Sally wrote to me a few weeks ago saying that she thinks she’s getting closer to the end.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes at Sally’s choice of words. “’Closer to the end’. How cruel of me is that to repeat? That’s not how I meant it.” 

“I know,” Peggy said softly, reaching across the table to grab his hand in support. Her hand felt familiar, comforting and warm. It made him feel a great sense of relief in a way that he was unaccustomed to. “What about your kids?”

“She wants them to live with her brother, William and his wife because she wants Bobby and Gene to have a woman influence in their lives. I insisted that I come back out there and take care of them, all of them, but she was very hard-core about me not being there. She said that she’s trying to keep things as normal as possible and that they’re not used to seeing me anyway. It’s true, you know. They aren’t used to seeing me.” 

Peggy sniffled, still holding on to his hand. “Even so, they are still your children. What are you going to do?”

“Peggy, there’s nothing I can do,” he simply said, becoming more and more choked up as he spoke of the sensitive subject. He finally felt brave enough to look from the table to her face, and when he did, he could swear that he was looking straight into a mirror. She was wearing the same facial expression as him; haunted but trying to hold it together. “She’s made her final wishes very clear. And to be honest, I completely understand her point. It’s very smart of her to have them live with her brother instead of with me or even with her current husband.”

“Are you planning to go to her funeral?” 

It was an honest question, and a genuine one, too. He hadn’t really thought that far in advance about what he would do when it came time for that. He had always assumed that he would go, but he wasn’t sure if he would be welcomed or not. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t know,” he repeated again, beginning to cry. He was confronting his real emotions for the first time since November 1970, and it felt right. It felt real. 

Peggy didn’t say anything as he sat there and sobbed. She only squeezed his hand tighter, as if to let him know that she was there, and she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. 

Eventually, he calmed himself down to talk again, fishing a faded, navy-blue Western-style handkerchief out from his shorts pocket to blow his nose before wiping the excess moisture from his face. “God, I’m such a fucking mess,” he admitted, leaning his head on the hand that wasn’t still gripping Peggy’s. 

“It’s ok. I am, too. We all are,” she replied, her voice breaking. She took a shallow, shaky breath before continuing. “You know, Don, I was really scared that I had lost you. Honest to God, I thought that you were going to off yourself right after you finished talking to me that day in November. I was so scared,” she repeated, unable to stop herself from crying any longer. “Damnit, I didn’t want to do this,” she said to herself even though he could obviously hear her. 

She paused crying for a second to say something else. “I remember almost everything you said to me in that call, but the part that has stuck with me the most was at the end when you said, ‘I’m in a crowd. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’ll see you soon.’“ She wiped her still-watery eyes with her free hand and looked directly at Don. “That was probably the worse lie you have ever told. You said that you would see me soon. I guess I must be dense as a brick, because even after being accustomed to you and your erratic behaviors for ten long years, I was not prepared for you to literally not return at all. Seriously, Don, what the hell was that? I know I kind of already said that when we talked on the phone two days ago. But I still stand by what I said, damnit!” She said in a loud tone, forming a fist with her free hand and slamming it down on the table as if to drive her point home. 

“I’m sorry for all of the turmoil I put you through. Emotional and otherwise. Genuinely, you have to understand how truly sorry I am. I never intended to hurt your feelings, and I’m touched that you still care so much for me, even after I’ve been beyond shitty. Thank you,” he said, a lump forming in his throat. This time, if he cried, it wouldn’t be from sadness. It would be from joy and the happiness that he still had people left in his life that honestly cared about him. 

“I will always care about you. We have too much history together for me to not to. I just wish you would have been a bit more perceptive and had thought things through. It’s over now though; it’s all in the past. We can’t let the should-have-been’s of the past run and control the lives we live now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Don nodded, breathing deeply and letting it out through his mouth in a loud sigh. “Yes,” he confirmed, placing his wadded up, dirty handkerchief back in his pocket. “I would just like to add that for the record, I would have never killed myself. My half-brother did, and it was my fault.”

Peggy scrunched her eyebrows together in concerned. Nobody outside of Anna Draper knew about his half-brother. Even the few people who knew the full truth about his past and his true identity as Dick Whitman didn’t know about his half-brother Adam. “What are you talking about?” she spoke quietly and slowly, as if trying to not completely unravel her former boss and current friend any more than she already had. 

“Yeah, I had brother. A half-brother. I was embarrassed and wanted to let go my past life, which included cutting off all ties to my former so-called family, including him. Well, he found me in 1960 and came to the original Sterling Cooper to talk to me. To catch up. To let me know how his life turned out. And I shut him down. I gave him a wad of cash and told him to never contact me again.” Don didn’t have any tears left, but he was feeling indooiblee sad beyond all recognition. Out of all the terrible things he had done in his life, this was at the top of his list as one of the things he regretted the most.

“I abandoned him then, just like I had long ago in the past. A few days later, I was feeling like shit for the way I had treated him, so I called the hotel that he had given me the number for. It was then I found out that he had hung himself in his room.” He winced, thinking back to that day, sitting in silence for a split second before looking her in the eye to add, “You’re the first person I’ve told that too. I just wanted to let you know…” he paused, searching for his words; searching for what he wanted to say. “I just wanted to let you know that I could never ever do that. Kill myself, I mean. It leaves too much of a burden behind for the survivors. And I know it wasn’t my fault, because a suicidal person is still going to do it no matter what. But sometimes, it still sure as hell still feels like it was my fault. I should have done more.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been hard to go through alone. Thank you for telling me,” she said, a look of concern mixed with love and understanding washing over her tear-streaked face. She smiled in a way that made him feel reassured that everything would end up being ok in the end.

“You’re right about a lot of things, Peggy, but especially with what you just said. The thing about just letting the past be the past, I mean,” he clarified, looking at her with the same expression that she was giving him. “You really do care about me.” Even though moments earlier, she had confirmed that she would always care about him, this was the first time it felt real to him. 

Peggy just looked at him and said nothing, her face non-verbally saying it all. “Should we get back to work?” she asked, glancing at the empty snack wrappers surrounding them. 

“Oh, shit,” he replied, literally forgetting why they were there in the first place. “Yeah, I guess we should.” She gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go, catching her fingertips right before they completely left his hand. “Thank you for being here. Thank you for listening. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.” It was his turn to squeeze her hand, and he did exactly that before letting go.  
They worked in peaceful silence cleaning up their snack trash, and when they returned to the workshop, they had a new understanding and appreciation for each other. Don could practically feel it in the air. 

“Hey Don?” Peggy asked as she put her safety glasses back on.

“Yeah, Peggy,” he replied, slipping his own safety glasses down from his now messed-up hair.

“Are we pathetic?"

“No,” Don swiftly answered, looking at her. “Losers, yes. Crazy people, certainly. But pathetic?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes before looking at her with his eyebrows raised. He smirked his trademark smirk and answered, “Never.”

Peggy rolled her own eyes but smiled and snickered. “That’s what I thought,” she said, nodding and smiling at him with one of her mysterious closed-lipped smiles. They looked at each other for a beat longer before putting on their identical masks and getting back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing the dialogue and imagining the situation for this chapter. Don and Peggy getting all up in their feelings is one of my all-time favorite things!
> 
> Also, I tried to make the junk-food as realistic as I could, but y'all know how it can be sometimes...  
> Generally, I wanted to make it clear that she had bought a lot of snacks (:
> 
> Another thing: I want to make it known that I don't know anything about repainting any vehicle, even a motorcycle. I just sort of guessed how it would go based on what I've seen on shows/movies and have read online :P I hope it isn't too shabby of a description! I know I made it be a major "thing" in this chapter, but honestly, it was just the background for the conversation they had :-)
> 
> Idk, there's probably other notes I'll think to add to this chapter later. Maybe, maybe not...
> 
> Anyway, as usual, feel free to leave a comment or question (: 
> 
> (P.S.-I almost have chapter 7 complete...!)


End file.
